STEPHEN  Bo  WEEKS 

CLASS  OF  1886;  PRD.  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSiriY  OF  NdWKIl  CABUMNA 
raE  WEEKS  COJULECTIKDN 

OF 


3L>= 


0! 


C813 
C.2 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N  C  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00017475073 


This  book  may  be  kept  out  one  month  unless  a  recall 
notice  is  sent  to  you.  It  must  be  brought  to  the  North 
Carolina  Collection  (in  Wilson  Library)  for  renewal. 


Form  No.  A-369 


DOLORES: 


A  TALE  OF  DISAPPOINTMENT  AND  DISTRESS. 

Compiled,  g^i;ran5i[(l  nnd  Cdltcd 


FROM 

THE  JOURNAL,  LETTERS  AND  OTHER  MSS.  OP 

ROLAXD    VEia^'O^f,   Esq.; 

AlTD  FROM 

CONTRIBUTIONS  BY  AND  CONVERSATIONS  AVITH 

THE  VEISI^^OX  FAMIILY, 
&i  ^us^brooh,  in  Carolina. 

0 ^ 

By  benjamin  KOBINSON. 


*' Let  us  know, 

Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 
When  our  deep  plots  do  pall :  and  that  should  teach  U3 
There's  a  Divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Eough-hew  them  how  we  will." 


Uau  JTorJi: 

E.  J.  HALE  &  SONS,  16  MUEKAY  STEEET. 

1868. 


% 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868, 

By  E.  J.  HALE  it  SONS,  for  the  editok. 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 

District  of  New  York. 


CLAYTON,    STAEPv    &   LINDSAY, 

STEREUTTPEKS  AND  ELECTROT YPEKS, 

116  Fiiltou  Street,  New  Yoil:. 


L^ 


PEEFACE. 


To  critics  I  liave  nothing  to  say  in  exten- 
uation of  aught  that  appears  in  the  follow- 
ing pages.  If  they  find  anything  to  praise 
in  what  I  publish  therein,  I  am  confident 
that  they  will  be  just  to  themselves,  and 
give  me  due  credit.  If  they  find  anything 
to  ridicule,  or  to  denounce,  or  to  assist  them 
in  pointing  a  moral,  I  am  sure  they  will 
make  the  most  of  it— they  always  do  ! 

But  to  my  general  readers,  I  have  some- 
thing to  premise  ;  because  I  think  they  are 
entitled  to  an  explanation,  and  I  feel  that  I 
have  a  perfect  right  to  offer  one. 

It  is  this  :  When  my  friend  Mrs.  Alice 
Vernon  brought  me  the  manuscripts  which 
I  have  worked  up  into  a  connected  narra- 
tive, with  the  request  that  I  would  edit 
them  for  publication,  I  appreciated  my  un- 
worthiness  for  the  labor,  but  such  were  my 
obligations  to  her  that  I  could  claim  no 
right  to  give  her  a  flat  refusal.  So  I  con- 
sented to  consider  the  matter. 

After  ■  some  weeks  of  deliberation  I  re- 
plied, as  I  thought,  in  a  very  positive  man- 
ner, that  I  must  decline  to  undertake  the 
work.  Whereupon,  she  demanded  my  rea- 
sons, and  I  gave  them. 

I  told  her  that  a  lack  of  acquaintance 
with  the  parties  by  whom  her  husband  had 
been  surrounded,  and  who  would  be  neces- 
sary as  dramatis  personce  in  the  story  of  his 
sad  life,  would  forbid  my  attempting  the 
task ;  for  to  give  interest  to  the  chronicle, 
the  characters  of  these  persons  would  have 
to* be  portrayed  very  vividly.  Mrs.  Ver- 
non overruled  this  objection  by  calling  the 
names  of  each  of  these  parties,  and  then 
selecting  from  our  mutual  friends  others, 
who,  she  averred,  were  in  some  resj^ects 
strikingly  similar  ;  after  which  she  insisted 


that  I  could  take  a  peculiarity  from  this, 
and  a  peculiarity  from  that  person,  and  by 
drawing  upon  her  descriptions  and  my  own 
imagination,  so  hit  off  the  .personages  of 
the  narrative  as  to  preserve  a  sufficient 
accuracy  and  truthfulness  to  nature. 

When  I  expressed  my  fear  that  this  sug- 
gestion, if  acted  upon,  would  give  offense, 
and  that  persons  might  be  indignant  from 
the  supposition  that  I  had  caricatured  them, 
Mrs.  Vernon  ridiculed  the  idea,  and  declared 
her  perfect  assurance  that  there  is  too 
much  good  sense  in  the  majority  of  man- 
kind for  any  sane  person  to  be  so  stupidly 
foolish.  I  was  not  satisfied ;  but  then, 
what  is  the  use  of  arguing  with  a  woman  ? 

Subsequently,  I  reminded  Mrs.  Vernon 
that  it  was  evident  from  the  MSS.  that  hex 
husband  had  been  an  Infidel,  and  that  to 
present  him  fairly,  many  of  his  conversa- 
tions would  have  to  be  transcribed,  which 
would  reflect,  in  all  probability,  great  and 
unnecessary  ignominy  u{)on  him  ;  while,  at 
the  same  time,  I  confessed  that  the  mor- 
al of  such  a  book,  as  that  which  she  wished 
me  to  write,  might  prove  hurtful,  and 
would  certainly  subject  me  to  unkind  ani- 
madversion from  flippant  critics.  Still  Mrs. 
Vernon  was  not  to  be  silenced  or  overcome  ; 
but  she  combatted  my  suggestion,  saying 
that  wliile  the  siiperficial  reader  might  con- 
demn, the  profound  would  approve, — that 
the  moral  was,  instead  of  being  evil,  calcu- 
lated to  elevate,  expand,  and  develop  Chris- 
tian virtues.  As  for  her  husband,  she  said 
that  his  misfortunes  would  shield  him  from 
ungenerous  and  vmmeritcd  censivre.  A& 
for  my  fear  that  the  fact  of  having  edited 
such  a  book  would  subject  me  to  the  suspi- 
cion of  heterodoxy,  she  laughed  at  it,  and 


PEEFACE, 


taunted  me  witli  a  lack  of  moral  courage. 
Then  I  began  to  yield — wlio  cannot  face  the 
fire  of  a  world's  abuse  more  firmly  than  a 
pretty  woman's  half  meant,  half  pretended 
scorn  ? 

Put  to  my  trumps,  at  last  I  gave  my  best 
reason :  I  had  no  experience  in  book-wri- 
ting, could  not  do  the  scene  shifting,  was 
not  an  artist — in  a  word,  had  no  idea  as  to 
how  a  novel  should  be  worked  up  for  the 
press;  and  that,  if  the  book  was  to  be 
printed  with  any  expectation,  even  of  a  re- 
spectable circulation,  that  it  ought  to  ap- 
pear in  the  form  of  a  novel :  all  this  I 
frankly  said,  and  more.  Yet  Mrs.  Vernon 
persisted  in  her  confidence  in  my  capacity 
to  perform  the  labor,  flattered  me  a  little, 
and  I  surrendered. 

When  I  got  to  work  and  had  nearly  com- 
pleted my  labor,  I  stumbled  upon  an  ob- 
stacle to  further  progress.  The  description 
of  Mrs.  Adams'  trial  balked  me — I  could  not 
understand  the  notes  of  the  medical  testi- 
mony left  by  Eoland  Vernon ;  and  I  re- 
garded this  as  very  important.  I  went  to 
Mrs.  Vernon  with  my  distress — she  is  happy 
in  expedients — and  communicated  informa^ 
tion  of  the  diflSculty.  She  immediately  pro- 
posed a  plan  of  relief — the  one  which  I 
adopted : — 


"  I  understand,"  said  she,  "  that  the  same 
experiments  were  made  for  detecting  poi- 
son in  this  case  as  were  made  in  the  cele- 
brated Simpson  case.  I  have  a  copy  of  Mr. 
Haigh's  report  of  that  trial.  Take  it ;  and, 
with  it,  and  a  little  cramming  in  chem- 
istry, toxicology,  and  medical  jurispru- 
dence, you  can  understand  Mr.  Vernon's 
notes  of  the  evidence  of  Doctors  McPherson 
and  Effingham." 

This  much  of  explanation,  in  advance,  I 
have  thought  to  be  absolutely  necessary — 
only  a  word,  or  so,  more  ! 

If  any  persons,  after  reading  these  Chron- 
icles shall  be  disposed  to  condemn  poor  Ro- 
land Vernon  for  his  dearth  of  Faith,  let  them 
recollect  that  he  is  yet  young,  and  that  his 
great  afflictions  may  in  the  end  break  his 
stony  heart,  and  direct  him,  in  humiliation, 
to  the  fountain  of  Eternal  Truth.  When 
he  drinks  of  the  waters  thereof,  he  may 
emerge  from  the  darkness  in  which  his 
spirit  now  dwells,  purified  and  strengthened, 
and  be  what  he  ought  to  be — a  Christian 
as  well  as  a  high-toned  Gentleman. 

BENJ.  EOBINSON 

Fayetteville,  N,  C, 
October  23, 1868. 


P  E  0  E  M . 


"  Back  woman— back !  What !  Do  you 
come  to  mock  my  woe  ?  Do  you  bring  those 
children  here  to  taunt  me  with  my  misfor- 
tunes, to  make  them  hate  me  because  I  have 
not  provided  for  their  wants  ?" 

"0  no !  He  did  not  speak  thus  to  you — 
to  you  who  have  loved  him  so  fondly  !  It 
cannot  be — it  cannot  be  that  he  reproached 
you  thus — Tell  me  that  you  are  only  in 
jest!" 

"  I  repeated  his  rery  words,"  sobbed  the 
young  woman.  "  He  said  more — wo^a*? ; 
but  I  cannot,  I  must  not  tell  you  these 
things." 

"  Tell  me  all,  child— tell  me  all !  I  can- 
not bear  to  hear  ;  but  I  can  no  better  endure 
not  to  hear !  I  entreat  you,  I  command  you 
to  tell  me  everything !" 

"  When  he  spoke  so  cruelly,"  continued 
the  younger  of  the  two  women, "  I  fainted  ; 
and  just  as  I  revived  they  seized  him  and 
started  away.  He  went  with  them  as  far 
as  the  door ;  then  turned  and  said  in  a  sad 
tone  that  I  shall  never  forget :  '  It  is  not  my 
fault  that  I  have  failed,  my  wife.  I  have 
not  been  unwilling  to  work  for  you  and  for 
them.  But  I  started  wrong — I  tried  to  be 
honest  and  at  the  same  time  to  succeed.  I 
aspired  to  accomplish  an  impossibility.'  Oh  ! 
I  cannot  go  on,  mother — I  cannot !" 

The  older  of  the  two,  from  whose  eyes 
the  tears  fell  rapidly,  could  only  gasp,  "  Go 
on !  1 7nust  hear  all !" 

"  Then  they  carried  him  out ;  he  strug- 
gled and  hurled  them  from  him ;  and  re- 
joined me.  Pointing  to  the  children,  he 
said,  shaking  his  head,  '  Don't  let  them 
know  they  have  an  ancestry  !  Don't  let 
them  be  gentlemen !    Above  all  thins:?,' 


and  his  voice  dropped  into  a  whisper,  '  never 
let  them  take  an  oath !'  He  commenced 
to  say  something  else,  but,  I  was  so  excited 
I  could  only  hear  the  words,  '  Teach  my 

CHILDKEN    TO    BE    VILLAINS — THEN    THEY 

WILL  BE  HAPPY !'     Oh  !  mother !  mother  !" 

Saying  this,  the  younger  of  the  ladies, 
weeping  violently,  fell  into  the  arms  of  her 
companion,  who  folded  her  silently  to  her 
bosom. 

Not  very  far  off  were  two  other  women 
wearing  the  mourner's  garb;  Avhile,  closer 
at  hand,  two  sunny-haired  boys  watched  a 
parent's  grief. 

The  old  place,  in  whose  park  these  women 
were  weeping  that  afternoon — August  10th, 
1868 — was  the  homestead  of  a  Carolina  fam- 
ily. It  was  called  Rushbeook,  and  had  re- 
ceived its  name  from  its  original  owner. 

Rushbrook  was  situated  on  a  plateau  of 
thirty  acres,  which,  edged  by  a  forest  growth 
of  oak  and  pine,  sloped  with  a  gentle  decliv- 
ity from  three  sides  to  the  banks  of  a  rapid 
stream  whose  transparent  waters,  flowing 
through  a  jagged  but  glittering  bed  of 
sparkling  sands  and  shining  pebbles,  mur- 
muring a  soft  melody  as  they  danced  over 
the  rugged  surface  of  the  uneven  channel, 
rippled  on  to  mingle  with  the  turbulent  cur- 
rent of  the  not  distant  Cape  Fear. 

It  was  reached  from  C town,  located 

on  the  river  shore,  by  a  wide  turnpike  that 
stretched  towards  the  West  and  bounded 
the  tract  on  the  South,  passing  the  great 
gate,  from  which,  through  a  cedar  lined  av- 
enue, nestling  amid  a  depth  of  foliage  af- 
forded by  the  magnolias,  oaks,  chestnuts 
and  mock  orange  trees,  could  be  seen  a  quaint 
old  two  and   a  half  story  building,  once 


PROEM. 


painted  white,  and  its  square  sides  pictur- 
esquely set  off  Avitli  heavy  green  blinds,  but 
now,-— for  it  had  been  built  nearly  three 
quarters  of  a  century, — beaten  and  discolor- 
ed by  the  peltings  of  many  storms,  and 
shrunken  and  gnawed  by  the  sharp  tooth 
of  Time — the  angular  roof  being  coveied 
with  moss,  and  the  panes  of  the  odd  fash- 
ioned dormer  windows,  that  stood  out  like 
grim  sentinels  above  the  battlements  of  a 
fortress,  full  of  the  ugly  webs  that  busy  spi- 
ders had  woven  during  the  long  days  of 
many  a  year. 

In  rear  of  this  building  was  a  large  yard, 
with  stables,  barns,  and  other  outhouses, 
shaded  by  huge  mulberries,  behind  which 
was  a  wide  stretch  oT  cornfield,  the  land- 
scape being  relieved  here  and  there  by  lux- 
uriant vines,  running  with  well  trained  reg- 
ularity along  the  firm  supports  of  stout  ar- 
bors, which  were  flanked  by  fruit  trees, 
heavy  laden  with  the  rich  abundance  of  a 
plenteous  yield. 

In  front,  between  the  house  and  the  road, 
there  was  a  circular  park,  fenced  by  a  hedge 
of  osage-orange  that  followed  the  outer  cir- 
cumference of  a  wide  gTavelled  foot  and 
carriage  way.  This  park  was  bisected  hj  an 
avenue,  the  guard  of  csdars,  on  either  side 
of  it,  stretching  out  their  limbs,  interlacing 
their  branches,  and  forming  a  sombre  can- 
opy. The  great  semicircles,  into  which  the 
park  was  thus  di^'ided,  were  full  of  gigan. 
tic  trees,  whose  luxuriant  boughs  and  vine 
clad  crests  gave  a  cool  retreat  of  shade  and 
provided  a  deep  seclusion  for  the  inmates 
of  Rushbrook. 

This  elegant  seat  was  once  the  home  of 
happiness,  the  abode  of  wealth,  the  shrine 
of  an  unbounded  and  freely  dispensed  hos- 
pitality. But  misfortunes  had  come  upon 
its  occupants ;  and  now,  alas !  the  auc- 
tioneer's hammer  was  to  ring  where  Beau- 
ty's laugh  had  resounded. 

Rushbrook  was  to  be  sold  on  the  mor- 
row; the  mortgagee's  advertisement  was 
tacked  on  its  gate  post ;  and  four  women 
who  had  loved  it  in  its  better  days  were 
now  taking  a  last  sad  look  at  the  scenes  of 
a  happiness  that  had  de^mrted. 

"Let  us  go,  daughter!"  said  the  elderly 
lady,  after  drying  the  flood  of  tears  that 
the  other's  recital  had  evoked.     "  I  cannot 


stay  here — the  memories  revived  by  these 
scenes  are  too  painful.     Let  us  go  !" 

"  Shall  we  call  iJiem,  or  leave  them  be- 
hind ?"  was  the  inquiry  of  the  daughter,  as 
she  pointed  to  the  ladies  conversing  a  short 
distance  off,  and  at  the  same  time  beckon- 
ing to  her  children. 

"  As  you  please,  dear  !" 

"  Come  Mrs.  Adams — both  of  you  !  We 
are  going.     Are  you  ready  V 

"  Certainly !"  replied  the  younger,  but 
the  sadder  of  these  ladies,  hurrying  for- 
ward to  join  the  group  nearest  the  gate. 

The  sun  was  sinking,  and  the  western 
sky  was  brilliant  with  variegated  colors  ; 
white  clouds,  drifting  over  a  background 
of  cerulean  blue,  were  rimmed  with  blended 
gold  and  red ;  long  shafts  of  iUamiuated 
silver  shot  upwards,  like  mighty  columns 
of  moonbeams,  resting  on  the  dark  hori- 
zon, ever  and  anon  lifting  themselves  to 
the  zenith,  as  if  to  light  the  world,  now 
that  the  Day-God  had  abandoned  his 
throne ;  while  sweeping  from  North  to 
South  was  a  vast  expanse  of  an  orange 
sea,  over  the  surface  of  which  crimson  bil- 
lows were  beatiug  like  the  furious  waves 
of  a  tropical  tempest-tossed  ocean  at  dawn. 
From  this  sky  there  lingered  a  reflection 
of  light  on  the  roof  of  the  Rushbrook  House, 
and  upon  the  cobwebbed  panes  of  the 
dormer  windows,  the  sun  had  wrought 
pictures  of  fantastic  shapes  ;  the  leaves  of 
trees  in  the  park  were  glistening  brightly 
from  the  effulgence  that  was  wrapping  all 
nature  in  its  soft  embrace  ;  the  whole  land- 
scape was  glowing  with  a  radiant  loveli- 
ness !  While  all  was  yet  entrancingly 
beautiful,  she,  who  was  called  mother, 
turned  and  beheld  the  gorgeous  pa- 
geant. 

"  Dear,  dear  old  Rushbrook !"  she  ex- 
claimed with  great  fervor.  "  How  can  we 
leave  you  ?  0  God !  why  have  we  been 
doomed  to  so  much  misery  f 

"  Alas !"  interposed  a  weak,  sorrowful 
voice.  "Alas!  that  I  should  have  been 
the  cause  of  this  parting.  It  would  have 
been  better  to  have  died  than  to  have 
brought  grief  and  poverty  to  my  friends  !" 

"  Say  not  so !"  responded  the  other. 
"  Say  not  so,  my  child !  We  regret  the 
loss  of  our  home ;  but  we  are  proud  of  the 


PROEM. 


act  tliat  lias  rendered  tlie  sacriBce  neces- 
sary." 

"  And  do  you  still  love  me,  since  I  was 
tLe  immediate  cause  of  his  incarceration, 
since  to  save  me  you  have  been  forced  to 
surrender  your  home  ?" 

"  How  can  you  doubt  it  ?"  was  the  Lalf 
pitying,  half  indignant  rebuke. 

"  You  must  remeinber  that  the  members 
of  our  race  count  nothing  vainly  expended 
that  is  consecrated  to  the  maintenance  of 
Truth,  or  that  is  devoted  to  the  defence  of 
Innocence !" 

With  these  words,  Mrs.  Vernon  turned 
her  back  on  the  seat  of  her  former  splen- 
dor, and  swept  majestically  into  the  C 

town  road. 

The  simlight  which  had  played  on  the 
loof  and  illuminated  the  park,  as  if  sym- 


pathising with  the  noble  matron's  sorrow, 
died  out  utterly,  and  the  sombre  gloom  of 
tn'ilight  encompassed  the  landscape. 

What  sorrow  was  it  that  pressed  on  this 
stately  woman?  Who  were  her  compan- 
ions ?  Of  whom  did  Mrs.  Vernon's  daugh- 
ter speak  ?  who  was  he  that  had  spoken 
those  bitter  words  which  she  repeated  ? 
Where  was  he  imprisoned  and  for  what  ? 
Why  had  he  uttered  that  horrible  com- 
mand— "  Teach   my    childeen    to   be 

VILLAINS  f 

It  will  be  the  Editor's  effort  to  answer 
these  questions  in  the  following  chapters. 

Each  reader,  after  their  perusal,  must 
determine  for  himself  whether  Eoland  Ver- 
non was  a  man,  or  a  devil. 


DOLORES. 


BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  fifteenth  of  June, 
1853,  a  boy  of  fifteen  waited  impatiently 
in  the  middle  of  the  cedar-arched  avenue 
at  Rushbrook,  looking  eagerly  towards  the 
house,  watching,  it  seemed,  for  the  com- 
ing of  some  one  who  had  failed  in  the 
punctual  observance  of  appointment. 

There  was  something  attractive  in  the 
appearance  of  this  youth.  His  figure  was 
girlish,  and  was  attired  plainly  but  neatly, 
in  garments  of  a  light  grayish  material  cut 
in  a  fashion  well  adapted  to  his  age  and 
form.  His  face  was  a  pleasant  one,  with 
well  chiselled  features,  and  lit  up  by  an 
eye  of  ^tender  blue  that  glanced  now  and 
then  with  a  mingled  volume  of  fire  and 
gentleness.  Crowning  his  well  shaped 
head  was  a  crested  wealth  of  golden  curls, 
which  now  glistened  in  the  sim shine  that 
was  creeping  through  the  interwoven 
boughs  overhead;  and  these  curls  were 
nestling  in  wavy  profusion  around  a  fair 
and  delicately  moulded  forehead. 

He  waited  until  his  patience  was  ex- 
hausted, nervously  keeping  his  eye  on  the 
front  steps  of  the  house.  At  length  he 
threw  himself  on  the  ground  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  petulance,  and,  to  beguile  the 
time,  gazed  at  the  sun  which  was  sinking 
behind  a  pile  of  cloud  banks,  marking  and 
admiring  the  golden  splendor  of  the  bur- 
nished heavens,  all  aglow  with  lovely  tints, 
and  tapestried  with  bright  cloud  pictures  • 
and  then,  when  these  had  vanished,  he 
yawned,  and  stretched  himself,  and  looked 
again  towards  the  house. 

Just  as  he  directed  his  gaze  towai'ds  the 


door,  out  tripped  a  maiden  on  the  walk  ; 
she  paused  a  moment  and  then  bounded 
towards  the  youth. 

"  So  you  have  come  at  last.  Belle !  I 
thought  you  never  woidd  get  tired  of  stay- 
ing in  there  with  those  grown  folks.  Do 
you  know  that  I  have  been  here  an  hour 
waiting  for  you?" 

The  youth  put  on  an  air  of  offended 
vanity  when  he  said  this,  and  then  heard 
her  response  in  dignified  silence. 

"You  are  very  impatient,  Roland,"  she 
cried,  with  a  little  frown,  "  but  I  dare  say 
you  have  been  enjoying  yourself  well 
enough  without  me  all  the  while.  You 
only  pretend  to  be  anxious  to  have  me  with 
you." 

Master  Roland  Vernon  protested  that  he 
had  missed  Miss  Belle  Woodruff  very  much 
— so  much  that  ii.  was  impossible  for  him 
to  convey  the  slightest  idea  of  the  magni- 
tude of  the  deprivation  which  her  absence 
had  occasioned. 

"But,  never  mind,  now  that  you  have 
come,"  he  continued,  "for  your  presence 
confers  such  a  pleasure  that  I  should  be  a 
brute  if  I  reproached  you  for  your  delay, 
that  has  made  it  even  sweeter." 

"  Oh !  when  did  you  learn  to  coin  such 
handsome  compliments  ?"  And  Belle  drop- 
ped him  a  mock  courtesy. 

"  While  you  were  in  the  house  pretend- 
ing to  be  so  demure  !"  he  answered,  giving 
her  arm  an  impudent  pinch. 

"0   Roland!     Aren't    you    ashamed   of 

yourself?     I  know   what's  the  matter— 

you  are  jealous  of  Uncl^e  Leigh !     What  a 

boy— jealous  of  his  own  grandfather  !" 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  replied  Roland,  flaring. 


10 


DOLORES. 


lip,  and  then  lau<,^liing  merrily  at  tlie  idea, 
"but  I  -svisli  you  wouldn't  always  spend 
your  time  with  mother,  and  grandfather, 
and  the  rest,  when  you  come  to  Paish- 
brook.  It's  seldom  enough  that  you  come 
anyhow !" 

"  And,  if  you  want  to  see  me,  why  don't 
you  come  over  to  the  Meadows  ?  You  are 
a  pretty  fellow,  I  know !  to  expect  me  to 
visit  you.  I  can  tell  you,  sir,  I  am  not  in 
the  habit  of  calling  on  my  beaux." 

"  Now  that  grandfather  is  so  sick,  I  can- 
not leave  Rushbrook  long  enough  to  go  to 
the  Meadows.  He  wants  me  with  him  all 
the  time,  when  no  company  is  here  to  see 
him.  That  is  why  I  can't  go  to  see  you, 
and  why  I  am  so  greedy  of  your  company 
when  your  father  brings  you  to  Rush- 
brook." 

"  And  it  was  because  your  grandfather 
is  so  ill  that  I  staid  in  tlie  house,  Roland. 
Father,  v.'ho  is  his  brother-in-law,  tells  me 
that  the  poor  old  gentleman  will  soon  die  ; 
and,  as  I  have  always  been  one  of  his  fa- 
vorites, and  have  received  many  kind- 
nesses from  him,  I  thought  I  ought  to  stay 
and  converse  with  him  as  long  as  he  seemed 
to  desire  to  have  me." 

"Why,  Belle!  Who  would  have  im- 
agined that  you  were  so  considerate? 
Not  I,  certainly !  It  is  too  late  now  to  go 
to  the  Holly  Spring.  Your  father  said  we 
must  not  be  away  when  he  gets  ready  to 
start ;  so  we  will  sit  down  here  and  talk 
until  he  comes.  Pshaw  !  There  he  comes 
now !" 

Just  as  Roland  Vernon  spoke,  a  tall, 
handsome  gentleman  stepped  out  of  the 
house  and  advanced  to  the  gate.  This 
was  General  Walter  Woodruff,  an  officer 
of  the  Carolina  Militia,  and  a  lawyer  by 
profession.  He  was  a  gentleman  of  wealth, 
a  planter  as  well  as  an  advocate,  and  held 
an  honorable  position  in  the  county.  But 
for  too  great  a  fondness  for  wine,  he  might 
have  attained  great  eminence,  as  his  tal- 
•  ents  and  education  wore  of  no  mean  order. 
As  it  was  he  was  constantly  deteriorating, 
and  Avas  only  kept  from  utter  degradation 
by  his  fondness  for  his  only  daughter, 
Belle,  who  was  as  spoiled  as  she  was 
beautiful.  James  Leigh,  the  maternal 
grandfather  of  Roland  Vernon,  married  a 
sister  of  General  Woodruff;  but  Mrs.  Ver- 


non was  the  daughter  of   a  subsequent 
marriage. 

This  afternoon  the  General  was  sober  ; 
and,  apprehending  the  early  decease  of  his 
brother-in-law,  he  had  brought  his  daiigh- 
ter  with  him  to  see  the  feeble  old  man. 
He  was  now  ready  to  return  to  the  Mead- 
ows, his  elegant  seat  about  two  miles  south 
of  Rushbrook. 

"  Come,  Belle  !  I  am  ready  ;  and  Ro- 
land looks  as  if  he  felt  very  tired  of  you. 
She  is  a  great  chatterbox,  Roland  ;  and,  if 
she  ever  gets  married,  she  will  tease  her 
husband  to  death." 

Roland  laughed  pleasantly  ;  and  squeez- 
ing Belle's  hand,  as  she  got  into  the  car- 
riage, he  bid  the  General  and  his  daughter, 
"  Good  evening." 

"  Pa,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  slander  me  to 
my  sweethearts !"  she  said  with  a  saucy 
toss  of  her  head,  after  they  had  driven 
away  from  the  gate.  "  If  you  tell  him  that 
I  am  a  tease,  he'll  take  fright  and  won't 
pop!"  And  she  added,  with  a  shudder  at 
the  thought,  "  That  would  be  dread- 
ful!" 

"Humph!"  grunted  the  general.  "At 
that  already,  are  you?  Why,  you  little 
minx !  you  are  as  bad  as  your  mother  was. 
She  made  me  pop,  as  you  call  it,  before 
she  was  fifteen.  How  like  her  you  are. 
Belle  !" 

With  this  the  General  fell  to  musing  ; 
but  his  daughter  interrupted  him  with  the 
retort, 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  will  be  fifteen  in  De- 
cember ;  so,  as  Ma  did  before  me,  I  have 
got  a  right  to  catch  as  many  beaux  as  I 
want,  and  I  shall." 

The  General  smiled  when  she  proceeded 
in  an  earnest  tone, 

"Roland  is  sucTi  a  nice  fellow!  Don't 
you  think  so.  Pa  ?" 

"  Certainly  he  is,  my  daughter,"  he  re- 
plied right  heartily.  "  He  is  a  clever  boy — 
indeed,  he  could  not  well  be  otherwise 
with  such  blood  in  his  arteries." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that.  Pa  ?  You 
are  always  talking  of  blood  and  things. 
What  has  blood  to  do  with  Roland's  being 
clever  ?'"' 

"  A  vast  deal,  my  daughter.  A  man  is 
constrained  by  the  blood  that  he  has  in- 
herited   from  his    ancestors.      You  can't 


DOLORES. 


11 


make  a  silk  purse  of  a  sow's  car,  nor  a 
sow's  ear  of  a  silk  purse." 

"Did  I  ever!  There  j-ou  go  talking  of 
silk  purses  and  so — and  things,  as  if  I  knew 
any  thing  about  them.  Please  don't  try  to 
tease  me,  Pa;  but  tell  me  why  Roland 
can't  help  being  clever." 

"  Because  his  father  is  Charles  Vernon ; 
and  because  Virginia  Leigh,  that  used  to 
be,  is  his  mother.  There,  now ! — is  that  a 
satisfactory  reason,  puss  ?" 

"No,  sir,  it  is'nt,"  she  replied  with  a 
pout.  "  But  are  the  Vernons  and  Lcighs 
so  much  better  than  any  other  people?" 
she  continued. 

"  Not  any  better  than  the  Woodruffs, 
Belle ;  but  then  that  boy  Roland  comes 
from  a  good  stock.  The  Leighs  and  Ver- 
nons were  English  Royalists,  and  stuck  to 
the  Stuarts  from  the  day  that  James  I. 
ascended  the  united  throne  of  England 
and  Scotland  until  Prince  Charles  was 
whipped  at  CuUoden." 

"  What  did  they  do  then— desert  him  ?" 
asked  Belle,  growing  suddenly  interested 
in  the  genealogical  history  of  her  sweet- 
heart. 

"  Desert  him  !  No,  girl !  They  fled  with 
him,  linked  their  fortunes  with  his,  made 
their  escape  with  him  to  France.  James 
Leigh's  grandfather  was  one  of  his  most 
trusted  followers,  as  was  old  Roland  Ver- 
non." 

"And  who  was  old  Roland  Vernon?" 
Belle  asked  impatiently. 

"He  was  Roland's  great-grandfather. 
He  had  two  sons,  Charles  and  Louis,  the 
one  ten,  the  other  twelve,  when  they  went 
with  him  to  France.  Charles  afterwards, 
old  Roland  having  died  in  the  meantime, 
upon  growing  to  manhood  emigrated  to 
Virginia,  having  found  after  a  short  stay 
in  England  that  the  old  family  manor  near 
Bristol,  which  had  been  confiscated,  could 
not  be  recovered." 

"  And  what  became  of  Louis  ?"  asked  the 
General's  fair  inquisitor. 

"  He  accepted  the  proffered  assistance  of 
a  distant  relative  of  his  mother,  and  pur- 
chased a  Cornet's  commission  in  the 
British  army.  Afterwards  he  fought  on 
General  Wolf's  staff  at  Quebec,  and  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  bravery.  After 
the  declaration  of  peace  he  made  his  way 


through  the  wilderness,  by  Ticonderoga, 
to  New  York  to  sail  for  England.  Losing 
his  path  he  came  upon  the  Walloomscoik 
Valley  in  the  present  State  of  Vermont. 
L^pon  getting  back  to  London  he  sold  his 
commission,  and  returned  to  America,  pur 
chasing  a.large  grant  of  land  on  the  Wal- 
loomscoik River,  which  he  subsequently 
colonized  with  a  number  of  Puritans  from 
Massachusetts." 

"  So  Roland  is  descended  from  one  of 
those  horrible  old  Puritans !  I  declare  I 
wont  speak  to  him  again  !"  interposed  Miss 
Belle,  with  a  cmi  of  the  lip. 

"No — ^no!  Ton  don't  understand  me. 
He  was  the  lord  of  the  manor,  the  Puri- 
tans were  his  dependents.  Afterwards, 
Louis  Vernon  commanded  a  regiment  in 
the  Revolutionary  war,  and  fought  against 
George  HI.  He  had  several  sons,  three  of 
whom  were  old  enough  to  serve  in  that 
struggle.  Charles  Vernon,  Roland's  father, 
was  his  youngest  son,  and  was  born  in  1798, 
after  his  father's  death." 

"  Well,  now  you  have  told  me  all  that, 
tell  me  how  he  happens  to  be  h  je  in  Caro- 
lina. Who  would  ever  have  thought  Mr. 
Vernon  was  a  Yankee?"  said  the  young 
lady,  opening  her  bright,  black  eyes,  very, 
very  Avide. 

"  He  grew  up  to  manhood  in  Vermont, 
and,  finding  that  the  social  conditions  ex- 
isting there  were  not  suited  to  his  taste,  as 
there  was  a  very  large  infusion  of  Ti  "Massa- 
chusetts Puritans  in  the  j^opulation  of  the 
village  in  which  he  lived,  ho  moved  first 
to  Virginia,  and  then  to  this  county." 

"  But  you  have  given  me  a  i^erfect  histo- 
ry of  Louis  Vernon,  and  his  descendants  ; 
and  have  not  told  me  what  became  of 
Charles,  and  of  the  Leighs.  Since  you  have 
determined  to  amuse  me  with  a  story,  tell 
me  of  all  the  characters,"  was  the  very  rea- 
sonable remark  of  the  General's  listener. 

"  As  I  said,  Charles  came  to  Virginia, 
married,  and  died  there,  leaving  a  largo 
family.  James  Leigh's  father  came  over  to 
this  state  with  some  Scotch  ]\rcDonalds  and 
settled  on  the  Cape  Fear.  After  marrying 
my  oldest  sister,  his  son  James — the  gra}id- 
father  of  Roland  Vernon — married  the  only 
daughter  of  Charles  Vernon  of  Virginia.'' 

"  Well  ?" 

"  And  her  daughter  Virginia  married  her 


12 


DOLORES. 


Becond  cousin,  Charles  Vernou, junior.  Your 
friend,  (or  shall  I  call  him  sweetheart '?)  Ro- 
land, is  the  only  eon  of  that  marriage. — 
See !     Here  we  are  at  the  Meadows !" 

"  And  I  am  very  ghvd — I  am  sleepy  !" 

"  Sleepy,  you  little  torment !  Why  I 
have  been  telling  you  about  your  sweet- 
heart's antecedents  to  entertain  j'Tju  :  and 
now  that  I  have  gotten  you  home  without 
tiring  you,  audacious  little  wretch  that  you 
are,  I  am  to  be  told  that  you  are  sleepy. 
'  How  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth,'  and 
30  forth  !"  cried  the  General  in  a  mock  rage. 

"  Oh  !  Then  I  must  pretend  that  I  have 
been  interested  when  I  hav'nt !  Is  that 
)-our  requirement  ?  "  and  she  laughed  and 
ran  away  into  the  house. 

"  The  General  followed  his  daughter, 
never  dreaming  how  much  he  was  spoiling 
her  ;  and,  overtaking  her  in  the  hall,  stamp- 
ed his  foot,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Roland  Vernon  need'nt  ask  me  for  you. 
I  shall  positively  refuse  to  let  so  good  a  fel- 
low be  victimized  by  such  a  mad-cap  as  you 
are.     I  will ;  indeed,  I  will !" 

Belle  laughed  and  vanished  :  So  did  Gen- 
eral Walter  Woodruff. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Whex  General  "Woodruff  drove  away 
from  the  gate  at  Rushbrook,  Roland  looked 
after  the  carriage,  in  which  Belle  was  being- 
carried  away  from  him,  for  a  few  minutes 
\mtil  it  was  out  of  sight ;  and  then  he  walk- 
ed slowly  into  the  house.  Entering  the 
front  door  he  was  met  by  his  mother,  who 
stepi^ed  out  from  the  dining-room  where 
she  was  superintending  the  preparation  of 
the  tea-table  ;  she  gave  him  a  caressing  jat 
on  the  head,  and  said, 

"Poor  Roland  I  Belle  has  gone  and  left 
him  sad.  Never  mind,  my  son  ;  life  is  not 
so  short  but  you  will  have  plenty  of  oppor- 
tunities to  see  her  again." 

"  Now,  mamma  !"  he  always  called  her 
mamma,  although  he  was  quite  a  large  fel- 
low for  his  age,  "  Now,  mamma,  yd  ease  don't 
tease  me.     I  like  Belle  very  much  ;  but  not 


so  much  as  you  think  I  do.  She  is  not  my 
sweetheart,  as  you  suppose." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  with  aston- 
ishment. "  Oh !  I  thought  she  was — I 
thought  you  confessed  that !'' 

"  Shall  I  go  to  grandpa?"  he  asked,  with 
an  evident  desire  to  divert  his  mother's 
mind  from  the  other  subject.  "  You  know, 
I've  been  down  all  the  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  dear.  He  will  be  pleased.  Your 
grandpa  is  very  fond  of  young  people." 

Roland  mounted  the  stairway  and  enter- 
ed a  room  to  the  right.  In  this  elegantly 
and  comfortably  furnished  upper  chamber, 
with  its  windows  opening  on  the  eastern 
and  southern  sides  of  the  hoitse,  the  odor 
freighted  breezes  which  swept  over  the 
park  stealing  in  and  filling  it  with  fragrant 
atmosphere,  lay,  in  a  voluptuous  bed  in 
the  northeast  corner,  propped  with  pillows, 
the  attenuated  form  of  a  disease-  worn  in- 
valid. 

By  his  couch  sat  Doctor  EfSngham,  the 
family  physician,  conversing  cheerfully  in 
a  low  tone.  They  had  been  discussing  a 
number  of  unimportant  topics  before  the 
boy  entered ;  but  when  his  steps  were 
heard  approaching  the  Doctor  rose  to  take 
his  leave. 

"  It's  nobody  but  Roland,"  said  Mr.  Leigh, 
"  so  don't  hurry  away.  My  son,  I  wish  to 
speak  to  the  Doctor  alone  for  a  few 
seconds ! " 

Roland  retired  immediately ;  and  the  old 
man,  raising  himself  and  fixing  his  gaze 
steadfastly  on  the  physician's  face,  said  in 
a  weak  but  deliberate  tone, 

"  Before  you  retire.  Doctor  Effingham,  I 
desire  to  ask  you  a  question ;  and  I  would 
not  have  you  disguise  the  truth.  I  infer 
from  your  anxiety  about  me,  although  I  am 
stronger  tonight,  that  I  am  rapidly  ap- 
proaching dissolution.  I  do  not  fear  the 
ordeal  of  Death,  and,  having  spent  my 
three  score  years,  I  have  very  little  desire 
to  live.  But  I  wish  to  know  how  much 
longer  I  will  live.  I  would  defer  to  the 
last  moment  the  attention  which  must  be 
bestowed  upon  important  concerns,  de- 
manding my  best  faculties  of  mind." 

"  Frankly,  Mr.  Leigh,"  responded  the 
physician,  after  some  slight  hesitation,  "  1 
despair'   of  your  recovery.     You  may  lasl 


DOLORES. 


13 


three  weeks ;  you  may  not  last  a  -week. 
Certainly,  I  would  advise  you  not  to  post- 
pone beyond  a  very  few  days,  any  necessary 
preparations  for  the  Future. 

"  Thank  you.  Doctor ;  thank  you  for 
your  candor ! " 

"I  have  one  or  two  more  visits  to  make 
tonight;  so  you  must  excuse  me.  Good 
evening."  And  saying  this  the  physician 
rose,  and,  calling  Roland,  took  his  de- 
parture. 

Doctor  Effingham  was  a  gentleman  of 
superior  talent,  and,  although  only  thirty- 
tw^o  or  three  years  of  age,  was  deeply 
versed  in  the  lore  of  his  profession.  Like 
most  members  of  the  Jledical  Faculty  he 
was  a  Materialist ;  and  had  very  little  of 
the  Spiritual  in  his  composition.  When 
Mr.  Leigh  spoke  of  important  concerns  to 
be  attended  to,  the  Doctor  thought  there 
was  to  be  another  death-bed  repentance, 
and  his  lip  twitched  with  an  HI  sujipressed 
sneer. 

"  So  James  Leigh  is  going  to  recant  at  the 
last  moment.     Bah  !  " 

Such  was  the  Doctor's  remark,  muttered 
almost  inaudibly,  as  he  mounted  his  horse 
and  rode  away  from  Rushbrook. 

"  No  ;  that  can  hardly  be  the  case,"  he 
thought  subsequently,  "he  is  a  man  of  too 
much  mental  strength  to  grow  weak  even 
in  apprehension  of  death.  But  what  else 
can  it  be  ?  He  has  written  his  will,  for  I 
witnessed  it ! " 

Mr.  James  Leigh  was  of  the  old  school ; 
the  last  of  his  name.  From  his  father  he 
had  inherited,  while  still  quite  a  youth,  an 
ample  fortune,  consisting  of  lands,  houses, 
stocks,  and  slaves. 

To  dispense  his  hospitality  with  a  lavish 
generosity,  to  prove  a  benefactor  to  the 
poor  and  sorrowing,  to  give  an  example  of 
virtue  and  benevolence  to  his  fellows,  to 
make  his  dependents  happy  by  ameliorating 
their  physical  and  moral  condition,  and  to 
preserve  the  honor  of  his  race  from  all 
blemish :  these  had  been  the  chief  aspira- 
tions of  a  long  and  useful  life.  One  other 
ambition,  however,  was  coupled  with  these 
aims  :  He  desired  to  perpetuate  the  name 
of  the  family  which  was  once  so  illustrious  ; 
and  to  have  the  pure  rich  blood  of  the 
Leighs,    which    had    pulsated    daring   re- 


solves from  stout  hearts  to  the  minds  of 
heroes  long  dead,  and  that  had  fed  with  its 
strong  nutriment,  nerves  that  had  never 
faltered  in  the  presence  of  any  perils,  thrill 
again  through  the  arteries  of  a  new  gene- 
ration, no  whit  inferior  to  the  brave  old 
family  Knights  of  Richard's  and  Henry's 
days.  While  yet  a  young  man,  cherishing 
this  desire,  he  married  a  charming  lady, 
the  sister  of  General  Woodruff;  but  at  the 
moment  when  his  wish  was  about  to  be 
gratified,  his  Avifo  died,  and  left  him 
widowed  as  well  as  childless.  Afterwards, 
he  married  again,— a  daughter  of  Charles 
Vernon  of  Virginia  ;  but,  much  to  his  dis- 
appointment the  only  issue  of  this  marriage 
was  a  daughter,  at  whose  birth  the  tender- 
ly loved  wife  died  in  childbed. 

Mr.  Leigh  was  a  fatalist ;  and,  believing 
that  he  was  destined  never  to  have  a  male 
heir,  centered  all  his  affections  on  his  in- 
fant daughter,  who  grew  to  womanhood, 
beautiful,  talented,  and,  in  every  respect, 
worthy  of  her  distinguished  lineage. 

When    Charles  Vernon   of  Vermont,   a 

first  cousin  of  her  mother,  came  to  C 

town  to  live,  he  was  frequently  entertained 
by  Mr.  Leigh ;  and  thus  was  encouraged 
that  intimacy  which  ripened  into  love,  and 
had  its  full  fruition  in  the  marriage  from 
which  young  Roland  Vernon  was  sprung. 

Col.  Charles  Vernon  Avas  a  distinguished 

member  of  the  C town  bar,  a  man  of 

large  wealth  and  influence  at  the  time  this 
narrative  begins.  He  lived  at  Rushbrook, 
the  old  family  seat  of  the  Leighs,  which  had 
been  built  by  James  Leigh,  his  wife's 
grandfather ;  and  which  was  given  to  his 
wife  upon  her  marriage  as  a  bridal  present 
from  her  father.  Mr.  Leigh  had  lived 
with  the  Vernons  ever  since  their  mar- 
riage ;  and  he,  their  son  Roland,  and  them- 
selves, made  the  happy  family  group  that 
had  been  accustomed  to  sit  under  the  dear 
old  rooftree  at  Rushbrook. 

Happy  years,  all  of  them  had  spent,  in 
this  elegant  abode.  But  a  shadow  was 
hovering  over  it  now.  The  wings  of  the 
Angel  of  Death  were  darkening  the  horizon 
that  bounded  their  vision.  James  Leigh 
was  slowlv  but  surely,  nearing  the  eter- 
nal goal. 


14 


DOLORES. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  week  was  passed  by  Mr.  Leigh  •vvitli 
less  discomfort  than  usual ;  and  Doctor 
EfBngliam  encouraged  tlie  inmates  of 
Euslibrook  by  bis  rather  favorable  com- 
ments on  the  change  in  his  patient's  con- 
dition. On  the  20th  of  June,  however,  a 
return  of  unfavorable  symptoms  alarmed 
Mrs.  Vernon  and  she  sent  in  haste  for  the 
physician. 

When  Doctor  Effingham  came  in  obedi- 
ence to  this  summons  he  soon  saw  that 
there  were  unmistakable  indications  of  a 
diminishing  life  force  ;  and  he  immediately 
informed  Mrs.  Vernon  of  his  apprehension, 
and  advised  a  speedy  attention  to  such 
matters  as  wovdd  require  mental  exertion 
on  the  part  of  her  father. 

She  sent  to  toAvn  for  her  husband,  and  di- 
rected the  messenger  to  go  for  the  Eev- 
erend  Mr.  Adams,  the  pastor  of  the  Pres- 
byterian Church. 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  Doctor  Effingham, 
who  remained  with  his  patient,  again  felt 
the  fiickering  pulse,  and,  administering  a 
stimulant,  prepared  Mr.  Leigh  for  commu- 
nicating with  his  friends,  knowing  that 
the  sooner  this  effort  was  essayed  the  more 
certainly  it  would  be  satisfactorily  con- 
cluded. 

Mrs.  Vernon  stood  weeping  at  the  win- 
dow, her  hand  resting  tenderly  on  the  curly 
head  of  her  son,  and  herself  supported  by 
the  strong  arm  of  her  husband,  who,  much 
affected,  though  unused  to  manifesting  his 
emotion,  was  endeavoring  to  calm  her  for 
the  ordeal  which  he  perceived  to  be  immi- 
nent. The  old  minister  stood  by  her  and 
kindly  oflfered  the  consolations  of  the 
Church,  and  tendered  the  comforting 
promises  of  the  Gospel,  in  the  hope  that 
these  would  assuage  her  grief. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Adams!"  she  sobbed  bitterly, 
"  I  fear  that  Father  is  still  a  disbeliever ; 
and  that  these  pledges  of  the  Redeemer's 
Love,  are  without  virtue  to  soothe  my  sor- 
rowing. If  he  coidd  only  die  a  Christian, 
if  I  could  hope  for  a  reunion  up  there,  the 
suffering  of  this  hour  would  not  have  to  be 
endured.     Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

And  she  became  hysterical  and  sobbed 
violently. 


"  Restrain  your  grief,  my  wife.  If  you 
are  not  calm  you  will  distress  him  sorely. 
Be  braver  !  "  whispered  Col.  Vernon,  bend- 
ing a  pitying  and  sympathising  glance 
upon  his  wife. 

Doctor  Effingham  beckoned  them  to  the 
bedside.  The  weak  old  man  stared  at 
them,  and  smiled  faintly. 

Leaning  over  him,  striving  to  repress 
the  unbidden  tears  that  came  in  torrents 
to  her  eyes,  his  daughter  said  in  a  whisper, 

"Father,  Mr.  Adams  has  come  to  see 
you.  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  him  pray 
with  you?  I  sent  for  him  for  that  pur- 
pose." 

This  aroused  the  old  Cavalier ;  and,  of- 
fering his  thin  hand  to  the  preacher,  and 
welcoming  him  with  that  co\irteous  dignity 
which  distinguished  his  intercourse  with 
his  kind,  Mr.  Leigh  said  politely  to  this 
man,  who  had,  for  years  before,  never  en- 
tered that  house,  or  exchanged  a  friendly 
greeting  with  its  master, 

"  Mr.  Adams  cannot  but  know  that  I  am 
not  a  believer  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer. 
My  views  about  religion  have  been  firmly 
fixed  for  "many  years,  and  I  see  no  reason 
for  changing  them  now.  Indeed,  my  confi- 
dence in  their  correctness  has  never  been 
more  unshaken." 

The  Puritan  lifted  his  hands  with  holy 
horror  and  gazed  upon  the  dying  Infidel, 
with  a  mingled  look  of  astonishment  and 
repugnance.  He  had  been  taught  that  dis- 
believers always  recant  on  their  death  beds. 
Doctor  Effingham  smiled  a  happy  smile  of 
satisfaction  and  stepped  back  a  few  paces : 
he  saw  one  man  who  could  die  by  his  un- 
faith.  Mrs.  Vernon  wept  aloud.  Col.  Ver- 
non wore  a  grave  look.  Roland  was  blank 
with  amazement. 

"  But,"  continued  Mr.  Leigh,  "  if  my 
daughter  thinks  it  will  afford  her  any  grat- 
ification, I  shall  interpose  no  objection  to 
your  praying." 

Effingham  gave  a  little  start :  he  feared 
his  expectation  was  to  be  disappointed. 

"  While  I  regard  praying,  and  religious 
exercises  of  every  kind  as  a  waste  of  time," 
proceedtni  Mr.  Leigh,  "  I  would  not  have 
you  attribute  what  I  have  said  to  any  dis- 
position to  wound  your  feelings,  Mr.  Adams ; 
and  I  beg  you  to  be  assured  that  I  have  no 


DOLORES. 


15 


enmity  witli  yoti,  nor  am  I  wanting  in  re- 
spect for  your  office.  I  regard  the  Chris- 
tian Church  as  a  great  civilizer." 

Somewhat  mollified  by  this  declaration, 
the  minister  knelt  to  pray,  the  others,  with 
the  exception  of  Effingham,  falling  upon 
their  knees  where  they  stood ;  and  the 
words  of  the  petition  were  uttered  amid  a 
solemn  silence,  which  continued  for  several 
minutes  after  the  prayer  had  been  con- 
cluded. 

Mr.  Leigh  was  the  first  to  break  this  si- 
lence. Pointing  with  one  of  his  long  bony 
fingers  to  a  cabinet  standing  against  the 
wall  of  the  chamber,  he  directed  his  grand- 
son to  open  the  top  drawer,  and  fetch  a  pack- 
age which  he  would  find  in  the  nearest 
front  corner;  and,  when  this  was  brought 
to  him,  placing  his  hand  on  the  boy's  head, 
he  with  great  difficulty  articulated  the  fol- 
lowing words,  which  were  spoken  in  a  voice 
that  grew  fainter  and  fainter  under  the  ex- 
citement and  effort  which  their  utterance 
cost: 

"  Roland,  you  are  the  last  male  represent- 
ative of  a  family  once  large,  influential,  and 
illustrious.  You  will  be  the  inheritor  of 
the  proud  reputation  of  a  noble  race  ;  and 
you  v/ill  enjoy  a  large  wealth.  This,  in  it- 
self, is  a  heavy  responsibility.  Promise  me 
that  you  will  be  steadfast  in  your  efforts  to 
perpetuate  the  honor  of  your  ancestry  ; 
promise  me  that  you  will  never  do  any  act 
which  will  bring  reproach  upon  yourself  or 
upon  your  family  ;  promise  me  to  achieve 
a  fame  greater  than  that  of  any  of  those 
who  have  gone  before  you  !  Will  you  do 
this?" 

Trembling  with  unwonted  excitement, 
Poland  Vernon  could  only  bow  his  head, 
and  murniur, 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  do  as  you  wish  !  " 

"  Swear  that  you  will ! "  cried  the  impa- 
tient old  man. 

Col.  Vernon,  who  did  not  wish  his  son  to 
lightly  assume  a  responsibility,  which,  per- 
haps, he  did  not  fully  understand,  was  about 
to  interpose  ;  but  Mr.  Leigh  with  a  super- 
human strength  struggled  upright  and 
pushed  him  back,  and  again  shouted, 

"  Swear,  boy — swear ! " 

Before  his  father  could  make  himself 
heard  to  explain  the  impropriety  of  this 
oath,  his  usually  gentle  eye  blazing  with  a 


fullness  of  comprehension,  and  his  lips  com- 
pressed with  the  firmness  of  unalterable 
resolve,  Roland  Vernon  had  looked  James 
Leigh  in  the  eye,  and  earnestly  said, 

"  I  SWEAR  ! " 

"  In  this  package  is  my  will,  some  records 
of  the  family,  and  a  letter  of  trust.  Read 
the  records  ;  have  the  will  executed  and 
enjoy  its  bequests  ;  and,  when  you  become 
of  age,  acquaint  yourself  with  the  provis- 
ions of  the  trust  and  execute  them.  Do  not 
open  the  trust  until  you  are  of  age — do  you 
hear,  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  gentle  response. 

"  Give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you 
will  follow  my  directions !  " 

"  On  my  honor,  I  WILL  FOLLOW  THEJl!  " 

Then  the  proud  old  Cavalier  fell  back  on 
his  pillows ;  and  was  soon  beyond  the  al- 
lurements of  earthly  ambitions,  and  out  of 
the  reach  of  earthly  woes. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Reverend  Jacob  Adams  was  a  native 
of  Massachusetts,  but  had  been  a  resident 

of  C town  for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

He  was  a  person  of  very  decided  ability, 
but,  like  his  forefatiiers  of  Plymouth  Rock, 
full  of  strong  prej  udices. 

When  he  came  to  Carolina,  among  a  few 
of  4110  citizens  who  neglected  to  cultivate 
his  acquaintance,  were  the  Vernons,  Leiglis, 
Woodruffs,  and  others  of  the  Cavalier  stock, 
who  had  been  educated  to  be  Episcopalians, 
externally  at  least.  They  were  not  pleased 
with  his  manners,  and  took  very  little 
trouble  to  disguise  their  indifference.  The 
Reverend  Jacob  Adams  was  offended  at  this, 
and  he  never  forgot  the  half  suppressed 
contempt  of  these  "  slaveocrats,"  as  he  in- 
dignantly stigmatized  these  families ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  treasured  it  up  against 
them,  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  retal- 
iate— a  yearning  which  was  never  gratified. 

When  the  Reverend  Jacob  Adams  first 

came  to  C town,  although   Mr.  James 

Leigh  did  not  extend  to  him  an  invitation 
to  his  house,  he  was  polite  to  him  when- 
ever they  accidentally  met,  on  the  street  or 


16 


DOLORES. 


elsewhere.  But  tlic  Puritan  was  not  con- 
tent Avitli  such  a  recognition  ;  and  finding 
that  he  was  not  to  advance  in  Mr.  Leigh's 
esteem,  ceased  returning  his  salutations. 
So  it  happened  that,  except  upon  one  other 
occasion  when  his  ministerial  services  were 
needed  at  Kuslibrook,  he  had  not  entered 
that  house  until  he  was  called  in  by  Mrs. 
Vernon  to  pray  for  her  father  upon  his 
death-bed ;  and  so  it  was  that  Mr.  Leigh 
and  Col.  Vernon  were  hated  very  cordially 
by  the  Reverend  Jacob  Adams. 

Since  his  settlement  in  C town,  Mr. 

Adams  lost  his  wife,  who  left  one  son,  a  boy 
of  Roland  Vernon's  age.  This  boy's  name 
was  Paul. 

A  few  years  after  the  death  of  his  wife, 
Mr.  Adams  married  Mrs.  Reeves,  a  widow 
with  one  daughter,  a  few  years  younger 
than  his  son  Paul ;  and  since  that  marriage 
the  household  at  the  Parsonage  consisted  of 
the  minister,  his  wife,  his  son  Paul,  and 
Alice  Reeves.  Alice  called  Paul  brother, 
and  Paul  called  Alice  sister.  However, 
there  was  very  little  fraternal  aflPection 
wasted  between  these  two — for  some  rea- 
son they  were  not  very  congenial  spirits. 

About  eighteen  months  after  the  death 
of  Mr.  Leigh,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Adams  and  his 
wife  were  sitting  in  the  study  at  the  Par- 
sonage, Mrs.  Adams  sewing  in  front  of  the 
grate,  in  which  a  cheerful  fire  burned 
brightly,  and  her  husband  writing  a  ser- 
mon at  a  table  close  at  hand. 

The  lady  rose  to  stir  the  fire ;  and  the 
minister  paused  at  the  end  of  a  sentence  to 
collect  his  thoughts  for  a  new  dash  at  expo- 
sition :  simultaneously  both  heard  a  noise 
at  the  front  door. 

Rap !     Rap !     Rap  1 

"  There's  some  one  at  the  door.  Perhaps 
it's  Paul  and  Alice  ;  but  it's  early  for  them 
to  return  from  the  skating  pond,"  spoke  up 
the  preacher.  "  Hadn't  you  better  step  and 
see  who  it  is,  my  dear  ?  " 

Afrs.  Adams  got  up  and  went  out.  She 
opened  the  door.  She  screamed  wildly. 
She  swooned. 

Mr.  Adams  rushed  to  the  door.  He 
looked  out.     He  cried  in  agonized  accents, 

"  For  the  sake  of  Heaven,  what  is  the 
matter.     Quick  !  speak  !  " 

There  stood  Roland  Vernon  wet  to  the 
skin;  there  lay  Paul  Adams  pale,  almost 


lifeless  and  frozen  on  the  floor  of  the  por- 
tico ;  tJiere  nestled  the  cold  shivering  form 
of  Alice  Reeves  in  the  arms  of  Roland — her 
preserver. 

"  They  are  nearly  dead — take  him  into 
the  house !  I'll  bring  Iter!  If  you  are  not 
quick  they  will  be  beyond  recovery  !  "  was 
the  hurried  explanation.  "  Send  somebody 
for  a  physician  ! "  And  staggering  into  the 
study,  the  boy  deposited  his  charge  on  a 
lounge. 

"How  did  this  happen?"  shrieked  Mr. 
Adams,  excited  beyond  measure,  and  glar- 
ing at  Roland  like  a  maniac.  "  Tell  me, 
boy : " 

Roland  did  not  answer  him,  but  stag- 
gered to  a  window  and  threw  it  up,  crying 
out  in  a  loud  voice  to  Dr.  Effingham  who 
was  just  passing, 

"  Come  in  here,  Doctor.  Paul  and  Alice 
are  dying ! " 

The  physician  heard  the  wild  shriek  of 
terror  with  which  the  words  were  accom- 
panied, and  looked  in  the  direction  from 
whence  it  proceeded.  Just  as  he  looked, 
Roland  beckoned  to  him,  making  a  frantic 
gesture  ;  and  then  fell  back  on  the  floor 
exhausted. 

Doctor  Effingham  came  in  immediately 
and  administered  restoratives  ;  and,  in  a 
short  while,  Roland  was  able  to  change  his 
garments,  putting  on  a  suit  of  Paul's,  which 
Mrs.  Adams,  who  had  in  the  meantime 
recovered  her  wits,  insisted  upon  his  don- 
ning. 

Paul  was  insensible,  although  the  physi- 
cian kept  pouring  stimulants  down  his 
throat.  Alice  was  delirious,  and  would 
shriek,  "  Help,  for  the  love  of  God,  help  !  " 
and  then  the  poor  thing  would  shiver  and 
cry,  "  Oh  !  I  am  so  very,  very  cold  !  "  and 
then  she  would  murmur  ever  so  tenderly, 
"  My  preserver,  my  dear,  dear  preserver ! 
Roland,  my  preserver  !  " 

Mrs,  Adams  did  not  say  a  word  when  she 
heard  this  ;  but  ran,  and  caught  him  in  her 
arms,  and  hugged  him,  and  wept. 

As  soon  as  assistance  could  be  obtained 
Paul  was  taken  to  his  room,  and  put  in  his 
bed,  by  which  his  father  sat  and  watched. 
So  was  Alice,  Mrs.  Adams  attending  her, 
and  watching  her  with  an  unwinking  eye  ; 
but  the  good  lady  found  time  to  steal  back 
into  the  study  now  and  then,  to  ascertain 


DOLORES. 


17 


whetlier  Roland  was  comfortable,  or  not ; 
that  young  gentleman  having  been  peremp- 
torily ordered  by  Dr.  Effingham  to  take  to 
the  lounge,  and  wait  until  he  was  perfectly 
strong,  before  starting  homewards. 

In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours,  over- 
come with  the  heat  of  the  room,  and  the 
stimulants  he  had  taken,  and  the  natural 
buoyancy  and  strength  of  his  constitution, 
Roland  felt  perfectly  strong,  and  got  ready 
to  go  back  to  Rushbrook. 

Mr.  Adams  came  down  from  Paul's  room 
and  met  him  in  the  passage,  as  he  was  on 
the  point  of  leaving. 

"  Well,  my  young  man,"  said  the  preach- 
er, "  can't  you  tell  me  how  all  this  occurred, 
now  that  the  excitement  is  over  ?  " 

"  I  could  tell  you,  sir,"  replied  Roland, 
who  did  not  like  the  old  minister,  and,  now 
that  he  had  been  treated  so  scurvily  by 
him,  was  more  than  ever  disposed  to  de- 
spise him;  "but  I  prefer  not.  Your  son, 
or  your  daughter  can  detail  the  affair." 

"  I  suppose  you  enticed  them  into  the 
folly  which  has  come  so  near  costing  them 
their  liv3S  ;  and  that  the  subject  is,  there- 
fore, an  unpleasant  one  ?  "  sneered  the  man 
whose  mission  it  was  to  proclaim  good  will 
on  earth. 

"  Ton  are  at  liberty  to  suppose  just  what 
you  please,  sir,"  was  the  hot-headed  reply. 

"  I  must  say  you  are  extremely  discour- 
teous, considering  you  are  in  my  house," 
obseiVed  Mr.  Adams,  assuming  a  great 
deal  of  dignity  ;  "  and  that  you  have  very 
little  respect  for  my  holy  office.  That  is 
entitled  to  respect,  even  if  I  cannot  com- 
mand it  in  my  own  proper  person." 

"  If  you  had  been  a  gentleman ;  if  you 
had  exhibited  the  slightest  recognition  of 
my  service  in  saving  the  miserable  life  of 
your  cowardly  son  ;  if  you  had  not  proved 
yourself  a  boor,  and  a  spiteful  one  at  that, 
I  should  not  have  done  my  own  self  respect 
violence  by  bandj'ing  words  with  you.  I 
wish  you  a  good  afternoon,  Mr.  Adams !  " 

Roland  Vernon  made  the  parson  a  pro- 
found obeisance  ;  and,  turning  on  his  heel, 
left  tlie  roof  from  which  he  had  averted  a 
great  calamity,  with  an  unspeakable  dis- 
gust for  its  plebian-mannered  master. 

His  horse  and  rockaway  stood   at  the 
door,  where  he  had  left  them  :     Springing 
into  the  vehicle  he  drove  furiously  away. 
2 


"When  Paul  grew  well  enough  to  be  sub- 
jected to  interrogation,  Mr.  Adams  sought 
to  obtain  from  him  a  statement  of  the 
circumstances  which  had  led  to  the  mis- 
fortune which  had  befallen  Alice  and  him- 
self ;  but  the  j'outli  was  indisposed  to  talk 
about  the  matter,  and  was  almost  as  reti- 
cent as  Roland  Vernon. 

Finding  that  there  was  some  mystery 
connected  witli  the  affair,  which  neither  of 
the  youths  were  willing  to  disclose,  Mr. 
Adams  insisted  upon  an  examination  of 
Alice,  and  bade  his  wife  ascertain  the  mo- 
tive of  the  silence  of  both  lads. 

Pressed  by  her  mother,  Alice  cleared  up 
the  whole  matter,  giving  a  detailed  story, 
which  was  so  discreditable  to  Paul,  and  so 
creditable  to  Roland,  that  the  old  minister 
bit  his  lips  with  anger  and  chagrin  when 
it  was  repeated  to  him. 

Paul  had  gone  to  an  ice-pond  on  the 
Rushbrook  plantation  to  skate,  and  had 
taken  Alice  with  him  to  watch  the  exhil- 
arating sport.  "When  they  reached  the 
pond  they  found  Roland  Vernon,  and  a 
number  of  boys  from  the  town,  already 
there  enjoying  the  excellent  ice  which 
covered  a  cove  of  the  pond. 

Roland,  it  seems,  was  a  champion,  among 
his  companions,  in  all  their  manly  sports 
and  exercises,  and  as  a  graceful  and  swift 
skater  was  without  a  rival.  He  knew  the 
pond,  how  far  it  was  safe  to  venture  from 
the  banks,  wliich  ice  was  strong,  and 
which  brittle  or  rotten  ;  and  when  he  pre- 
scribed a  limit,  beyond  which  he  considered 
it  unsafe  to  venture,  few  of  his  comrades 
ever  dared  to  disregard  his  counsel. 

When  Paul  Adams  went  upon  the  pond 
he  immediately  challenged  Roland  for  a 
race,  and,  his  challenge  ha\ing  been  ac- 
cepted, he  was  beaten.  lie  disliked  Ro- 
land, and  Roland  disliked  him  ;  for  they 
were  rivals  in  every  thing,  at  school  in  their 
studies,  on  the  play  ground  in  their  sports, 
and  even  in  the  society  of  their  girlish 
sweethearts.  Baffled  in  his  effort  to  sur- 
pass Roland  in  that  trial  of  skill,  Paul 
grew  excited  and  dared  Roland  to  follow 
him  across  the  pond  to  a  cove  on  the  op- 
posite side  where  others  were  skating. 
Roland  declined  to  risk  his  life  in  such  a 
foolish  attempt.  Paul  taunted  him  mth 
timidity.      Roland  merely  curled    his  lip 


18 


DOLORES. 


and  glided  away  from  him.  Then  Paul 
made  Alice  get  on  a  small  sled,  which  he 
pwlk'd  ^vith  a  string;  got  her  consent  to 
be  carried  over  to  the  opposite  bank  ;  called 
on  the  other  boys  to  follow  him ;  taunted 
them  and  bullied  them  into  complying  ; 
and  dashed  off  to  execute  his  foolhardy  pur- 
pose. Koland  besought  them  not  to  go ; 
warning  them  of  the  great  danger  ;  and 
endeavored  to  mollify  and  dissuade  Paul 
from  the  undertaking,  but  in  vain.  They 
went  whirling  forward,  Paul  at  the  head, 
with  Alice  seated  in  the  sled,  aud  got 
nearly  across  the  pond.  Crack !  Crack ! 
Crack !  The  ice  broke.  Paul  and  Alice 
screamed,  and  went  down  into  the  deep 
water ;  but  rose,  and  clutched  the  edges  of 
the  brittle  ice,  which  kept  breaking  in 
their  grasp.  Still  they  managed  to  keep 
from  sinking.  At  the  first  alarm  the  rest 
of  the  party  turned,  and,  being  several 
yards  behind  Paul,  made  their  escape  to 
the  shore.  Eoland  watched  them,  and, 
v/hen  lie  heard  their  screams,  seized  a  rail 
from  a  neighboring  fence  and  sped  to  their 
rescue.  He  arrived  at  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
aster ;  threw  the  rail  across  the  ugly  hole, 
in  which  they  were  struggling,  half  frozen, 
for  life  ;  plunged  in  and  succeeded  in  get- 
ting both  of  the  unfortunates  out  on  the 
bank.  Here  there  was  no  fire  ;  so,  without 
hesitating,  he  had  them  placed  in  his 
rockaway  and  drove  rapidly  to  the  Par- 
sonage. 

\Vhcn  Mrs.  Adams  recited  these  circum- 
stances to  her  husband,  he  sent  lor  Alice, 
and  had  her  to  tell  him  over  again,  listening 
to  her  attentively  until  she  concluded  her 
statement. 

"  HoAv  did  Paul  behave,  after  he  got  into 
the  water  ?  Did  he  assist  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
when  she  ceased  speaking. 

"  No,  sir.  He  was  too  badly  frightened. 
I  had  to  take  care  of  myself;  and  would 
have  drowned,  but  for  Eoland  Vernon,"  re- 
plied Alice. 

"  Did  Paul  get  out  by  himself— without 
assistance  ?  ' 

"  No,  sir.  He  tried  to  make  Roland  take 
him  out  fii-st ;  but  Roland  paid  no  attention 
to  him,  until  I  was  safe.  Paul  is  a  great 
coward,  sir."  Alice  said  this  very  quietly, 
as  if  she  was  not  aware  of  the  extent  of 
the  disgrace  of  Paul's  behavior. 


"  What !  Paul  a  coward !  I  don't  be- 
lieve a  word  of  your  story  !  "  cried  the  old 
man,  indignantly.  But  he  did  believe  it ; 
and  that  was  why  the  shoe  pinched  so  ex- 
cruciatingly ! 

"  Oh !  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that.  He's 
brave  enough  at  times,  and  fights,  aud 
stands  up  like  a  noble  fellow.  But  he  gets 
excited  in  great  danger,  and  don't  know 
what  to  do.     Besides,  he  is  so  selfish  !  " 

"  Selfish  is  he  ! — there  you  are  again  !  I 
see  plainly  that  you  have  had  some  dis- 
agreement with  him,  and  are  a  prejudiced 
witness." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  is  selfish  I  Else,  why  did 
he  want  Roland  to  leave  me  to  drown,  and 
take  him  out  of  the  pond  first  ?  " 

That  question  was  a  stinger  ;  and  Mr. 
Adams  thought  it  best  to  bring  out  no 
more  damaging  facts  on  this  cross  examin- 
ation. So  he  told  Alice  that  was  sufficient, 
and  walked  into  his  study  to  finish  writing 
his  sermon. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Theee  was  a  deliglitful  retreat  at  Rush- 
brook,  well  stocked  with  entertaining  and 
instructive  books ;  comfortably  furnished 
with  easy  chairs,  and  sofas,  and  writing 
tables  ;  and  adorned  with  many  old  family 
portraits,  suspended  on  its  walls ;  aud  in  it, 
Roland  Vernon,  who,  even  while  sj  boy,  had 
made  it  a  familiar  haunt,  reclined  near  one 
of  its  windows. 

Eoland  was  j  ust  at  that  period  when  men 
are  most  vain  and  most  ambitious,  and 
when  they  take  most  deliglit  in  their 
wealth,  their  rank,  their  talents,  and  their 
personal  attractions.  He  was  a  proud, 
haughty,  aristocratic  fellow ;  vain  of  him- 
self, vainer  of  his  possessions,  vainest  of  his 
unspotted  lineage. 

He  was  leisurely  contemplating  the  faces 
of  the  portraits  of  his  ancestors  and  their 
kinsmen,  aud  was  thinking  of  the  dead 
Vernons  and  Leighs  of  the  many  genera- 
tions represented  in  those  gilt  framed  pic- 
tui-es.  He  liked  the  society  of  these  richly 
dressed  courtiers  and  ladies,  and  admired 


DOLORES. 


19 


tlieir  costly  costumes,  tlieir  ruffles,  their 
laces,  tlieir  powdered  liair,  and  the  mum- 
meries of  the  olden  fashions.  He  had  been 
studying  the  annals  of  this  race,  and  devour- 
ing the  pages  of  Froissart  which  chronicled 
their  gallantries  and  their  knightly  deeds. 
He  was  thinking  how  he  should  render  his 
name  as  famous  as  that  of  any  of  these  peo- 
ple of  the  past.  He  was  dreaming — nothing 
more! 

Yes.     He  was  dreaming ! 

There,  in  that  very  room,  years  and  years 
before,  Roland  Vernon's  favorite  occupation 
was  to  lie  and  dream,  surrounded  by  these 
Vernons  and  Lcighs  of  the  times  passed 
away.  He  was  something  of  a  poet,  not 
that  he  talked  or  wrote  poetry;  but  he 
thought  and  dreamed  poetry  in  that  de 
lightful  old  room. 

"When  he  was  not  dreaming,  he  pored 
over  the  amusing  books  on  those  dingy 
shelves. 

Roland  was  never  a  studious  boy  ;  that  is 
to  say,  as  studious  boys  generally  are — fond 
of  school  and  text  books.  But  he  was  a 
voracious  reader,  and  kept  his  memory 
lumbered  with  all  sorts  of  valuable,  curi- 
ous, and  worthless  information  that  he  had 
insensibly  acquired  while  seeking  pleasure, 
and  not  knowledge,  from  the  rare  old  vol- 
umes  in  that  library. 

Among  other  books  which  he  found  in 
that  room  were  the  works  of  Gibbon, 
Hume,  Shelley,  Paine,  and  those  of  many 
English  authors  whose  opinions  are  in  con- 
flict with  the  generally  received  teachings 
of  theologians ;  and  these,  together  with 
translations  of  Voltaire,  Rosseau,  and  other 
French  and  German  Infidels  and  Transcen- 
dentalists,  he  read  with  the  greatest  avid- 
ity. Of  course  communion  with  the  bold 
thoughts  of  these  irreverent  speculatists, 
silently  and  surely  produced  a  complete 
revulsion  of  his  faith.  The  creed  which 
had  been  taught  him  at  his  mother's  knee 
was  instantly  put  on  the  defensive ;  and, 
while  he  found  enough  of  contradiction  in 
the  theories  of  these  anti-Christian  philoso- 
phers to  preserve  him  from  a  blind  accept- 
ance of  their  doctrines,  he  was  irresistibly 
driven  to  a  vague  and  wavering  skeptic- 
ism, from  which  he  only  found  his  way  to 
a  steadfast  belief  by  the  light  of  the  disclo- 
sures of  physical  science ;  and,  although  it 


will  scarcely  be  denied  that  any  fixed  faith 
is  better  than  gloomy  doubt,  he  was  even 
then  fm'ther  than  ever  from  the  Gospel- 
founded  creed  of  his  childhood. 

With  his  mind  thus  stored  with  much 
undigested  food  for  thought,  and  his  brain 
teeming  with  v.'ild  speculations — the  in- 
variable effect  of  misdirected  reading  upon 
undisciplined  intellects — xi,  was  fortmiate, 
very  fortunate,  that  Roland  Vernon,  in  his 
seventeenth  year,  at  the  uj'gent  solicitation 
of  his  parents,  consented  to  enter  the  soph- 
omore class  of  the  State  University,  with  a 
view  to  becoming  a  member  of  the  legal 
profession  after  graduation. 

Col.  Vernon  held  that  most  of  the  intem- 
perance that  curses  humanity  is  the  result 
of  an  enforced  abstemiousness  of  v>-ine  in 
the  domestic  circle,  and  that  half  of  the 
yomig  men  who  become  drunkards  are  first 
impelled  to  their  dissipated  habits  by  a  de- 
sire to  enjoy  a  forbidden  pleasure  ;  and  it 
was  probably  due  to  his  practical  assertion 
of  this  theory,  in  his  relations  with  his  son, 
previous  to  the  latter's  departure  for  the 
university,  that  Roland  spent  three  years  at 
a  college,  which  was  a  nursery  of  this  great 
social  evil,  without  contracting  any  inj  uri- 
ous  habits. 

And  since  he  withstood  all  allurements 
to  vice  of  that  kind,  his  collegiate  educa- 
tion was  of  very  decided  benefit,  as  it  as- 
sisted to  discipline  lus  mind.  His  severe 
application  to  the  study  of  mathematics 
and  the  natural  sciences  brought  him  out 
wonderfully ;  and  this  course  of  training 
assisted  him  to  make  his  extensive  miscel- 
laneous reading  serve  him  in  good  stead  of 
the  classics,  which  he  sadly  neglected.  (If 
his  knowledge  of  his  own  language  had  not 
necessarily  been  empirical,  instead  of  criti- 
cal, on  this  account,  his  law  reading  during 
the  last  year  at  the  university,  and  his  at- 
tendance on  the  law  lectures  of  an  eminent 
jurist,  whose  school  he  attended  after  tak- 
ing his  degree,  together  with  his  unaided 
ante-coilegiate  studies,  and  his  close  appli- 
cation to  his  college  text  books,  would  have 
given  him  a  very  fair  education  to  com- 
mence life  upon,  even  in  an  age  of  great 
polish.) 

As  it  was,  he  was  at  home,  having  been 
admitted  to  the  bar ;  and  he  was  looking 
forward  to  the  attainment  of  his  majority. 


20 


DOLORES, 


Grown  man  that  lie  was,  however ;  grad- 
uate of  the  university  ;  attorney  and  coun- 
sellor at-law  ;  aspirant  for  fame ;  he  was 
still  the  same  dreamer  that  he  had  ever 
been  in  his  boyhood.  As  fond  of  that  seat 
by  the  window !  As  fond  of  looking  up 
into  the  eyes  of  those  painted  courtiers  and 
ladies  that  were  beaming  down  on  him  so 
gently !  As  fond  of  Froissart's  old  chroni- 
cles ! 

But  now  the  book  has  fallen  on  the  floor, 
and  Roland  Vernon,  as  of  old,  is  dreaming  ! 

A  person  of  noiseless  step  enters,  and 
glides  across  the  floor.  A  caressing  hand 
gathers  up  the  abundance  of  curly  golden 
hair  that  crests  his  forehead  and  toys  with 
it  tenderly.  A  soft  toned,  mellow,  soul- 
stirring  voice  calls  the  dreamer  from  his 
meditations.  He  wakes  from  his  revery, 
starts  up,  clasps  a  loving  arm  around  the 
neck  of  the  fair  intruder,  and  says,  with  a 
little  show  of  surprise,  mingled  with  fond- 
ness, 

"  Why,  mother !  you  frightened  me  by 
coming  in  so  stealthily.  Do  you  want  any- 
thing?" 

"  Do  I  want  anything  ?  What  a  ques- 
tion for  a  boy  to  ask  his  mother !  as  if  a 
mother  cannot  steal  aAvay  from  her  duties 
to  spend  a  few  minutes  with  her  son  that 
has  been  absent  so  long,  without  being 
asked,  like  a  servant,  Do  you  want  any- 
thing ?     Oh  !  Roland  !  Roland  !  " 

"  Oh  !  you  know  I  was  half  asleep,  Mam- 
ma! Come,  and  let  me  tell  you  what  I 
want,"  he  said,  with  a  look  of  apology, 

"  Well,  what,  my  son  !  " 

"1  want  the  books  and  shelves  in  this 
room  dusted,  the  windows  washed,  the 
blinds  habitually  kept  open  instead  of 
closed,  new  and  brighter  curtains,  and 
more  cheerful  looking  covers  on  this  dingy 
old  furniture.  I  want  the  library  to  be  a 
dark  haunt  no  longer,  but  would  have  it 
the  coiumon  sitting-room  of  all  the  inmates 
of  Rushbrook.  I  want  to  see  those  old 
faces,"  pointing  to  the  portraits  on  the 
wall,  "lighted  up  with  plenty  of  glittering 
sunshine." 

"What  a  laborious  task  you  set  me,  Ro- 
land !  But  suppose  I  agree  to  make  the 
change,  what  will  you  do  for  me  in  return?" 
•was  Mrs.  Vernon's  response. 

"  Anything ! "  was  Roland's  earnest  reply. 


"  Will  you  make  that  Northern  tour  with 
me,  and  go  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  those 

Vermont  relations?  " 

"  Ah,  Mamma  !  You  were  verj'  indignant 
when  I  asked  you  what  yoii  wanted  ;  but 
now  I  see  that  you  came  in  here  especially 
to  tease  me  with  that  abominable  Northern 
tour.  I  declare  I  cannot  go  with  you.  I 
dislike  those  people  !  " 

"  Then,  imless  you  do,  you  shall  not  have 
this  room  altered  ;  and  I  may  be  so  vexed 
that  I  will  not  let  you  stay  at  Rushbrook 
even!  Roland,  my  son,  I  have  fixed  my 
heart  on  this  tour — why  can't  you  go  with 
me  ?  If  your  father  was  not  so  very  busy, 
I  would  not  ask  you  to  go.  Please,  my 
son ! " 

"  Why,  Mamma,  if  it  has  come  to  this,  of 
course  I'll  do  just  as  you  wish.  I  am  ready 
to  start  now." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

There  was  a  lively  crowd  grouped  on 
the  decks  of  the  Cosmopolitan  that  de- 
lightful September  afternoon  ;  and  as  the 
prow  of  the  elegant  steamer  divided  the 
waters  of  the  Hudson,  gleaming  in  the  sun- 
shine, a  scene  of  loveliness  was  disclosed  to 
the  enraptured  view  of  the  thousand  tour- 
ists present,  which  was  well  worthy  of  the 
admiration  which  they  so  lavishly  be- 
stowed. In  the  distance,  the  peaks  of  the 
Catskill  range  were  looming  up,  crowned 
with  a  glow  of  effulgent  radiance  that  made 
those  lofty  mountains  resplendent  with  an 
almost  heavenly  beauty.  Exclamations  of 
pleasure  and  amazement  escaped  from 
many  tongues,  and  attested  Nature's  gen- 
erous bounty  in  providing  the  charming 
landscape  which  she  had  there  pictured. 

The  Cosmopolitan's  passengers  stood,  with 
a  riveted  gaze,  as  quietly  as  if  they  were 
within  the  precincts  of  some  hallowed 
shrine.  In  solemn  silence,  they  watched, 
until  the  mists  of  evening  began  to  engloom 
the  skies  with  their  shades,  and  until, 
where  light  and  loveliness  had  been,  stalked 
grim  Darkness. 

Scarce  was  there  a  soul  on  board  the  Cos- 


DOLOEES. 


21 


mopoliftui  so  bankrupt  in  sensibility  as  to 
escape  the  genial  intiuence  of  this  "  tlung 
of  beauty."  Still  to  three  xjersons  it  was 
almost  AvlioUy  lost. 

Apart  from  the  rest,  talked  these  three ; 
gesticulating  vehemently,  and  speaking  in 
excited  tones. 

Doctor  Sangster:  NewTorker.  Physician. 
Politician.     Humanitarian. 

Mr.  Joseph  Carson :  Vennonter.  Abo- 
litionist. Editor.  Lawyer.  Clever  Fellow, 
in  spite  of  his  Ideas. 

Mr.  Roland  Vernon  :  Carolinian.  Law- 
yer.   Fire-Eater.     Gentleman. 

Such  were  the  Dramatis  Persons  of  the 
lively  little  Drama,  then  being  enacted  on 
tlie  deck  of  that  Albany  steamer. 

Mrs.  Vernon,  unconscious  of  aught  else, 
leant  over  the  railing  and  veatched  the 
fantastic  cloud-shapes,  the  mountain's 
grandeur,  the  burnished  waters  rippling 
with  waves  of  molten  gold,  all  the  latent 
poetry  of  her  soul  quickened  into  a  sub- 
lime enthusiasm.  She  did  not  miss  her 
son,  who  had  relinquished  his  post  at  her 
side  to  join  his  fellow  disputants. 

For  long,  Vernon  was  silent.  He  listened 
to  much  that  was  unpleasant ;  and,  des- 
pite his  fiery  nature  and  impetuous  tem- 
per, repressed  his  rising  indignation,  and 
held  his  peace  with  remarkable  coolness, 
until  at  last  he  was  so  provoked  he  could 
not  control  his  tongue. 

It  happened  thus : 

"  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Carson,"  said  Doctor 
Sangster,  "  while  I  agree  with  you  that 
the  institution  of  slavery  is  full  of  injus- 
tice to  the  Negro,  and  should  be  restricted, 
as  far  as  practicable,  and  kept  out  of  the 
territories  by  Congressional  legislation,  be- 
sides its  abolition  in  the  District  of  Colum- 
bia, I  doubt  very  much  the  policy  of  up- 
rooting the  system  in  the  Southern  States, 
where  it  has  so  long  been  in  existence,  and 
where  the  climate  is  such  that  none  but 
slave  labor  can  develop  the  wealth  of  the 
soil." 

"  You  fail  to  take  a  comprehensive  view 
of  this  matter.  Doctor,"  said  Carson  with  a 
self  complacent  smile.  •'  The  Abolition  of 
Slavery  is  demanded  as  a  political  neces- 
sity, not  as  a  humane  step.  The  North 
must  control  tue  government ;  and,  be- 
fore this  can  be  consummated,  the  South 


must  be  destroyed.  Do  you  not  perceive  ?  " 
"  No !"  thundered  Sangster,  in  a  voice 
full  of  indignation,  "  I  can  perceive  no  good 
reason  for  disturbing  the  pleasant  relations 
of  the  sections.  As  to  the  right  of  this 
question,  Cong-ress  clearly  has  no  power 
under  the  Constitution,  to  interfere  with 
the  system  authorized  and  protected,  as  it 
is,  by  the  internal  regulations  of  the  differ- 
ent states.  But,  were  it  otherwise,  I  have 
no  desire  to  see  the  American  people 
X>luuged  into  a  Civil  War,  a  result  certain 
to  foUow  any  attempt  to  coerce  the  South. 
Therefore,  I  must  express  my  repugnance 
for  the  views  which  you  have  advanced. 
Before  everything  else,  I  AM  A  Unionist  !  " 
"  Just  so ! "  answered  Carson  with  a 
slight  sneer.  "  And  before  everything 
else,  I  am  a  Northerner !  I  can  tell  you,  Sang- 
ster, that  the  Abolition  party  is  growing  in 
this  coimtry.  Motives  of  policy,  too, 
govern  that  party  ;  and  not  a  despicable  po- 
etical sentimental  sympathy  for  the  Negro. 
The  South  is  getting  to  be  too  prosperous 
and  too  influential ;  and,  unless  the  North 
takes  immediate  steps  to  ruin  its  great  ri- 
val, it  will  have  to  abandon  all  its  schemes 
for  aggrandizement.  The  people  see  this, 
and  in  November  1860  they  will  act." 

"  You  admit  the  correctness  of  my 
charges  against  your  party,  Mr.  Carson !  " 
continued  the  Doctor,  waxing  very  hot. 
"  You  yield  all  that  I  claimed  ;  you  do  not 
deny  that  the  organization  is  a  purely  sec- 
tional one,  nor  that  it  is  governed  entirely 
by  sordid  motives,  nor  that  the  sympathy 
professed  for  the  slave  is  a  bare  cheat,  in- 
tended to  inveigle  weak  sentimentalists 
into  the  support  of  party  aims.  Sir,  I  can 
have  no  community  of  interest  or  feeling 
with  any  party  which  is  founded  on  a  Lie, 
and  which  acknowledges  no  higher  con- 
trolling principle  than  self  and  sectional 
aggrandizement.  I  do  not  believe  that 
such  a  party  can  ever  triumph  in  this  coun- 
try! I  HAVE  TOO  MUCH  CONFIDENCE  IN 
THE  INTEGRITY  OF  THE  PEOPLE  ! 

"Very  frank,  Doctor — very!  But  you 
are  in  error.  You  do  not  know  human  na- 
ttu'e !  You  expect  men  to  do  what  is 
theoretically  right,  when  to  do  so  is  to  ruin 
themselves!  You  are  not  stepping  apace 
with  the  age — this  is  a  practical  era !  " 

"Perhaps  you  are  right !    But  I  have 


22 


DOLORES. 


yet  to  learn  to  approve  the  wi-ong  to  even 
advance  my  interests.  I  do  not  belong  to 
your  school  of  ix)litics*  certainly." 

"  Nevertheless,  in  loss  than  two  years, 
you  will  change  your  views.  Mark  my 
prediction,  gangster!  The  entire  North 
will  fall  into  the  ranks  in  support  of  the 
great  movement  for  the  redemption  of 
this  mighty  section  from  that  disaster 
which  is  inevitable  unless  the  South  is 
crushed  ;  and  you  will  be  with  the  rest  of 
the  Northern  people." 

"  Never  !  Never !  "  responded  the  excited 
physician,  hotly  repudiating  this  as  an  as- 
persion on  his  intelligence  and  honor. 

"  Of  course,  you  think  not  now ! "  was 
the  calm  rejoinder.  "But  the  current  will 
soon  become  strong  and  irresistible.  Al- 
ready the  foreign  element,  the  strength  of 
which  is  poweifully  felt  in  our  elections, 
seeing  the  fertile  lauds  of  the  South  closed 
against  its  advance,  because  slavery  is  such 
an  economical  system  that  it  will  not  let 
free  labor  flourish  by  its  side,  feels  deeply 
interested  in  the  abolition  movement,  and 
has  begun  to  array  itself  for  the  coming 
battle.  As  sure  as  the  dawn  follows  the 
darkness,  the  Republican  party  will  soon 
clutch  the  throat  of  the  South  with  the 
grip  of  a  giant  and  prostrate  that  haughty 
section  sup^diant  at  the  feet  of  the  vic- 
torious and  prosperous  North." 

When  Mr.  Carson  concluded,  Vernon  who 
had  listened  in  silent  amazement,  advanced 
towards  him,  his  blue  eye  flashing  with 
quivering  and  fiery  glances,  and  his  frame 
convulsed  and  trembling  with  powerful 
emotion. 

"  That,  sir,  will  be  a  blood-bought  vic- 
tory !"  said  the  Carolinian.  "  Aye  !  a  vic- 
tory which  will  cost  the  expenditure  of  a 
valor,  which  the  history  of  Northern  prow- 
ess in  the  past  does  not  justify  the  most 
favorably  prejudiced  mind  in  attributing  to 
the  people  of  that  section,  wherein  the 
Dollar  is  deified,  and  honor  is  constantly, 
habitually  derided.  Your  party  will  pro- 
voke a  fight,  and  will  be  whipped  !  I  wish 
your  Puritan  coadjutors  would  attempt  the 
execution  of  the  scheme  that  you  have  in- 
dicated. The  Union  would  be  destroyed  ; 
the  South  would  have  a  fair  pretext  for  as- 
serting its  commercial  independence !" 

"  I  fear  that  young  gentleman  is  a  dis- 


unionist !"  observed  the  Doctor,  interrupt- 
ing Roland's  burst*  of  wrath  ;  and,  then, 
satirically  adding,  "  I  am  exceedingly 
pleased  to  know,  however,  that  his  senti- 
ments have  not  been  proclaimed  with  suf- 
ficient publicity  to  hasten  the  calamity  with 
which  he  threatens  this  country." 

Paying  no  attention  to  the  Doctor's  iron- 
ical manner,  Roland  proceeded. 

''  It  is  true,  sir.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  am 
a  disuniouist.     I   AM   SouTHEEX   to  tub 

BACKUONE  !  " 

Carson  laughed,  and  remarked  :  "  I  have 
no  desire  to  excite  you,  sir.  I  have  no 
personal  feelings  of  hostility  to  the  Southern 
people.  I  am  a  patriot,  and  a  Northerner  ■ 
and  I  espouse  the  interests  of  my  section. 
I  like  you  for  espousing  the  interests  oi 
yours !  " 

Roland  recovered  his  composure,  and 
looked  around.  There  stood  his  mother, 
her  face  blanched  with  terror. 

"Charlie!"  she  whispered.  "Charlie! 
Let  us  go  in,  my  son.  The  air  grows  very 
cold." 

Ho  hurriedly  joined  her  and  offered  his 
arm ;  not  perceiving,  in  his  excitement, 
that  she  was  escorted  by  an  elderly  gentle- 
man with  a  distinguished  air. 

"  I  have  fortunately  found  an  old  friend, 
my  son.  Mr.  Ashe,  let  me  introduce  my 
son — ilr.  Roland  Vernon." 

The  gentlemen  exchanged  greetings ; 
and  Mrs.  Vernon  continued  by  way  of  ex- 
planation, 

"  Mr.  Ashe  is  a.n  old  and  valued  friend 

of  your  father's,  and,  also,  a  native  of  C 

town." 

"  You  have  just  returned  from  France?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  confess  myself  much  sur- 
prised to  find  the  American  people  so  ripe 
for  a  revolution.  What  a  change  has  been 
wrought  in  the  last  three  years  !  "When  I 
left  America  every  thing  was  quiet ;  now 
every  thing  breathes  of  war. 

"  I  think  there  is  every  reason  to  believe 
that  the  beginning  is  not  far  in  the  Future," 
said  Roland. 

"  So  do  I !  In  this  connection — I  over- 
heard your  discussion  ;  and,  while  I  regret 
that  such  a  necessity  exists,  agree  with 
you  in  the  hope  that  the  bond  of  Union 
will  soon  be  snapped.  The  South  has  al- 
ready  suffered  beyond   endurance !     Does 


DOLORES. 


23 


your  father  coincide  Avitli  you  in  your 
opinion  V "  asked  Mr.  Asbe,  thouglitfully. 

"  He  does  not  express  himself  very  free- 
ly. He  is  a  Whig,  hut  a  States'  Rights 
Whig ;  and,  although  I  have  never  heard 
him  say  so,  he  will  doubtless  be  for"  the 
resistance  of  any  illegalities  of  the  Republi- 
can party." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  am  determined  ;  I  shall  go 
back  to  Carolina  and  help  to  prepare  the 
public  mind  for  the  conflict.  When  it 
comes,  then  I  go  into  the  fight." 

"  And  I  wUl  be  -with  you.  I  long  for  the 
fray!" 

The  supper  bell  here  interrupted  the  con- 
versation of  the  fire-eaters.  Mr.  Ashe 
joined  his  own  party ;  and  Roland  and 
Mrs.  Vernon  went  to  the  table. 

The  long  hours  between  supper  and 
dawn,  wore  slowly  away.  The  CosmopoU- 
tati's  paddles  beat  against  the  water  all  the 
night,  and  the  machinery  of  the  boat  kept 
up  its  unremitting  hum. 

At  daybreak,  however,  Mbany  looked 
calmly  down  upon  the  river  from  its  seat 
on  the  hill ;  and,  in  a  few  hours  more,  the 
Vernons  were  whirling  over  the  railway, 
hastening,  as  fast  as  the  iron  horse  could 
carry  them,  to  the  home  of  their  Northern 
relatives. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

It  was  a  girl's  musical  laugh ! 

One  of  those  merry,  g-ushing,  joyous  peals, 
that  awaken  tender  thoughts  in  the  most 
callous  breasts,  and  that  stir  unsympathiz- 
ing  age  with  pleasant  memories  ! 

And  the  face  ? 

It  was  a  bright,  happy,  mirthful  face  ! 

Although  the  features  of  Dolores  Vaughn 
were  nearly  hidden  in  the  masses  of  black 
wavy  hair  that  fell  upon  the  window  sill  as 
she  leant  out  to  whisper  with  the  graceful 
but  delicate  youth  who  stood  in  the  twi- 
light, starting,  yet  unwilling  to  leave  his 
fair  enchantress,  enough  of  her  sweet  ex- 
pression to  aiiord  the  necessary  data  for  a 
judgment  on  her  charms,  was  caught  from 
those  bewitching  eyes,  pleading  earnestly 


with  him  to  stay,  while  her  words,  uttered 
as  rapidly  as  a  glib  Yankee  tongue  could 
rattle,  bade  him  seek  shelter  from  the  keen 
and  penetrating  mountain  breeze  that  made 
him  shiver,  even  while  basking  in  the  warm- 
ing effulgence  of  beauty's  most  fascinating 
smile. 

"  So  you  really  condescend  to  flatter  a 
poor  Green  Mountain  girl !  "Where's  your 
vaunted  dislike  and  contempt  for  all 
Yankee  nature?  Your  prejudices  have 
very  suddenly  vanished,  Mr.  Roland  Ver- 
non ! " 

Then  the  ringing  laugh  and  the  coquet- 
tish glance  ;  telling  i^laiuly  enough  that  the 
young  lady's  vanity  had  suggested  a  satis- 
factory explanation  of  this  unexpected 
change  of  sentiment. 

"  Oh !  but  you  know,  I  didn't  include  you. 
We  Vernons  stick  to  our  kin  ;  and  I'm  sure 
you  are  my  cousin,  Dolores.  You  don't  re- 
pudiate the  relationship  ?  " 

There  was  a  half-amused  look  in  his  face 
while  he  waited  for  her  response. 

'•  Yes  ;  I  do,  su- !  "  she  cried.  "  I'm  only 
your  second  cousin's  cousin  ;  so  no  more  of 
your  sophistry.  I  can't  be  blarneyed  by  an 
aristocrat,  even  though  I  am  but  '  an  hum- 
ble maiden.'  You  know  well  enough  that 
we're  no  kin  ;  but,  suppose  I  was,  you'd 
turn  up  your  nose  at  me  at  the  South  !  " 

She  uttered  the  words  mockingly  and 
archly  ;■  continuing,  before  he  could  reply, 
in  a  bantering  tone  : 

"  Don't  stand  there,  shivering  in  the 
ni'i-ht  air !  You'll  be  too  sick  to-morrow  to 
go  to  the  pic-nic  !  " 

"  Are  you  going,  Dolores  1 " 

"  I  will  not  tell  you.  I  said  I  would  not, 
and  I  will  not.  If  you  want  to  find  out,  go 
and  see!  I  declare  you  had  bette*"  run 
along  home ;  it's  getting  late,  and  you 
know" — here  she  laughed  merrily  again, 
and  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  that  ap- 
pealed to  him  to  stay  more  eloquently  than 
words  could  have  besought  — "  and  you 
know  there's  a  ghost  at  the  bridge.  Be- 
sides, I  hear  mother  scolding  because  I  have 
not  fixed  the  tea  table.  Go  now— that's  a 
nice  fellow ! " 

Somehow,  or  other,  while  she  was  speak- 
ing he  had  drawn  nearer  the  window,  and 
she  had  bowed  her  head  closer  to  his,  ex- 
tending her  pretty  hand.    Emboldened  by 


24: 


DOLORES. 


a  tell-tale  something  that  nestled  in  her  eye 
and  quivered  in  her  voice  ho  seized  this 
and  pressed  it  impulsively.  Then  two 
mouths  puckered  and  pouted  for  a  kiss  ; 
and  then there  was  a  smack  ? 

No!     Unfortunately,  no! 

Then,  instead. of  the  smack,  Mrs.  Vaughn 
approached  very  inopportunely  and  said, 

"  Dolores,  your  Pa  is  impatient  for  tea, 
dear.  Can't  you  prevail  on  Mr.  Vernon  to 
come  in  ?  "  And,  addressing  him,  she  add- 
ed, "  Ve  will  be  delighted,  sir,  to  have  you 
remain  with  us! " 

Roland  would  gladly  have  accepted  the 
cordial  invitation  ;  but  Dolores  signalled  to 
him  to  decline.     He  obeyed. 

The  girl  was  averse  to  being  teased  by 
her  female  friends  ;  and,  as  Roland's  atten- 
tions had  not  escaped  iheir  notice,  she  dis- 
couraged too  jnuch  frequency  in  his  visits. 
But  he  was  an  impudent  fellow,  who  inva- 
riably took  an  ell  when  given  an  inch,  and 
persisted  in  hanging  around  her  wherever 
she  went.  She  was  stubborn  in  one  thing, 
however,  and  could  not  be  dissuaded  from 
her  purpose.  He  must  not  let  people  see 
how  great  was  their  intimacy,  as  they  cer- 
tainly would,  if  he  kept  taking  meals  with 
her.  So  it  was  that  she  telegraphed  her 
dissent  when  her  mother  invited  him  into 
the  house. 

He  understood  her  signal,  and  complied 
with  her  desire  as  became  a  discreet  and 
well-behaved — visitor. 

Dolores  said  that  he  was  nothing  more  ! 

Did  Dolores  tell  the  whole  truth? 

Mrs.  Vaughn  did  not  press  Roland  to 
stay  when  he  pleaded  an  absolute  engage- 
ment ;  and  he  was  permitted  to  bow  him- 
self out  of  their  presence  with  a  pleasant 
adieu. 

He  took  a  little  path  that  lecl  to  the  wick- 
er gate  that  opened  upon  the  Fairchild 
farm,  and  walked  slowly  down  through  the 
trees.  After  going  about  a  hundred  paces 
he  was  half  inclined  to  turn  back  and  brave 
the  displeasure  of  Dolores ;  but  then  he 
feared  the  anger  of  that  witch  who  tor- 
mented his  waking  moments  and  haunt- 
ed his  very  dreams.  So  he  walked  an. 
Then  he  stopped.  His  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  a  loud  cough.  He  peered  through 
the  gloaming  and  saw  a  white  handkerchief 
flutter  under  the  tall  trees  in  front  cf  Mr, 


Vaughn's  house.  Then  ano^^  peal  of 
laughter  rang  on  the  evening  breeze,  and 
he  caught  sight  of  a  girlish  form  flitting 
through  the  open  door. 

"  Does  she  love  me  ?" 

When  her  clear  ringing  laugh  broke  the 
silence,  Roland  asked  himself  the  question. 
But  he  could  not  give  himself  a  calm,  relia- 
ble answer.  In  her  there  were  no  symp- 
toms of  the  tender  passion  ! 

"  Does  he  love  me  ? " 

Before  he  stopped  and  looked  back, 
Dolores  asked  herself  this  question.  The 
next  moment  she  gave  herself  a  satis- 
factory response.  In  him  the  indications 
of  the  fearful  malady  were  plainly  dis- 
cernible ! 

Arriving  in  B Roland  and  his  mother 

had  become  the  guests  of  Mr.  Fairchild — a 
grandson  of  old  Colonel  Louis  Vernon,  the 
founder  of  the  "WaUoomscoik  settlement, 
and  of  the  Northern  branch  of  the  Vernon 
family.  Side  by  side  with  Mr.  Fairchild's 
estate,  and  located  on  the  road  that  leads 

northwards    from    the    village    of   B 

Centre,  Mr.  Vaughn's  farm  nestled  in 
the  shadow  of  the  long  mountain  range 
that  botmds  the  valley  of  the  WaUoom- 
scoik. 

After  his  domestication  in  Mr.  Fair- 
child's  family,  Roland  was  not  long  in 
making  acquaintances  among  the  yo;ing 
people  of  the  neighborhood,  with  many  of 
Avhom  he  was  soon  on  terms  of  familiarity 
and  friendship.  But  of  the  be\y  of  pretty 
girls  in  the  township  he  was  fondest  of 
Dolores  Vaughn,  a  niece  of  Mr.  Fairchild's 
wife.  She  was  blighter  than  a  sunbeam, 
playful,  witty,  the  toast  of  a. dozen  badly 
smitten  village  swains.  Perhaps  it  was  to 
tease  them  that  she  went  assiduously  to 
\j-ork  to  captivate   the  young   Carolinian 

when  he  made  his  appearance  in  B ; 

but,  no  matter  what  the  reason,  she  suc- 
ceeded admirably  ;  and — got  entrapped 
herself. 

Oh !  what  a  dance  she  led  him,  the  ar- 
rant flirt !  Now  she  betrayed  a  fond  ten- 
derness in  some  seemingly  careless  word, 
and  filled  him  with  hope ;  now  she  dis- 
played the  -atmost  indifl'erence,  and  drove 
him  to  despair. 
Matters    had    stood    this   way  between 


DOLORES. 


25 


them  until  he  Tvent  home  that  evening 
asking  himself  if-  she  loved  him ;  taking 
courage  from  her  soft  manner  and  confid- 
ing tone — taking  fright  at  the  levity  with 
which  she  had  been  treating  him  all  the 
afternoon. 

Roland  resolved  that  night  that  the  mor- 
row's sun  should  not  set  without  relieving 
his  suspense  ;  and  Dolores  resolved  that,  if 
any  art  of  her's  could  protract  his  torture, 
she  would  make  him  very  wretched  before 
she  would  speak  the  words  that  she  was 
sure  would  make  him  extremely  happy. 

Take  care,  Roland !  Don't  be  too  im- 
petuous in  your  struggle  to  burst  from  the 
darkness  of  Doubt,  into  the  light  of  Assur- 
ance ! 

Take  care,  Dolores !  Don't  carry  your 
pretty,  harmless  whims  too  far,  lest  your 
light,  but  loving,  heart  lead  you  into  the 
midst  of  miseries. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  sun  rose  brightly  above  the  range 
of  mountains,  and  illuminated  a  clear  sky, 
upon  the  blue  vault  of  which  there  was  not 
a  fleck  x>f  cloud. 

All  the  youth  of  B were  astir  ;  and, 

very  early,  the  paths  towards  the  base  of 
Mount  Antony  were  flocked  with  gallants 
and  ladies  fair. 

They  were  going  to  the  Pic-Nic  ;  and, 
among  the  others,  Roland  Vernon,  who 
awoke  from  rosy  dreams,  stroEed  along 
with  a  gait  thajbetokened  the  pleasantness 
of  his  thoughts. 

Dolores,  of  whom  he  was  constantly 
thinking,  had  appeared  to  him  in  his 
slumbers  the  night  before,  so  gentle,  so 
bewitching,  her  looks  so  full  of  love,  her 
words  so  fond,  that  he  had  accepted  the 
visitation  of  his  dream  as  a  harbinger  of  a 
new  happiness. 

His  eye  sparkled  with  undisguised  joy ; 
his  happy  soul  was  mirrored  in  his  shining 
face  ;  and  a  look  of  prouder  exultation 
could  not  have  encircled  and  illuminated 
him  had  he  already  listened  to  her  vows 
at  the  altar,  a  delighted  bridegroom,  in- 


stead of  a  trembling  lover  yet  in  doubt  of 
his  fate. 

When  Roland  reached  IMount  Antony  he 
looked  everywhere  for  Dolores,  but  she 
was  not  to  be  found.  His  high  spirits 
abated  immediately  ;  but  in  a  few  minutes 
his  heart  ^ave  a  great  thump  of  delight, 
and  Dolores  was  before  him,  allowing  him 
to  feast  his  eyes. 

Then  followed  the  struggle  for  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain.  The  girls  scrambled 
up  the  rocks  with  great  agility,  affording 
their  escorts  but  a  poor  opportunity  for  the 
display  of  their  courtliness. 

After  this  steep  and  difHcult  ascent  was 
made,  the  couples,  who  had  attained  the 
summit,  began  to  scatter. 

Vernon  attempted  to  seize  the  occasion 
now  presented  to  press  his  suit,  and  en- 
deavored to  entice  Dolores  from  a  giggling 
crowd  of  girls  whose  beaux  were  men  in 
buckram. 

Dolores  pertinaciously  refused  to  be  en- 
ticed ;  and  sat  looking  at  him  under  her 
eyelashes  and  enjoying  his  undisguised 
discomfiture. 

Vernon  thought  desperate  thoughts.  If 
he  had  been  a  certain  tyrant  that  Lord  B}'- 
ron  refers  to  in  one  of  his  stanzas,  and  had 
possessed  the  power,  he  would  have  had 
the  necks  of  that  group  of  girls  whose 
beaux  were  men  in  buckram,  welded  into 
one  very  huge  neck,  and  ordered  the  heads- 
man to  do  his  duty. 

So  passed  a  greater  part  of  the  forenoon  : 
Vernon  uncomfortable  and  badly  vexed — 
Dolores  calculating  the  extent  of  his  ca- 
pacity for  endurance  of  suspense,  and  in- 
venting new  tortures  for  her  victim. 

Nature  has  given  women  hearts,  very 
fortunately,  as  well  as  diabolical  minds, 
that  are  lU'olific  in  resources  of  annoyance ; 
and,  at  length,  it  became  a  question,  not 
how  long  Roland  could  endure,  but  how 
long  Dolores  could  repress  her  own  long- 
ings to  enjoy  his  suffering. 

Time  passed.  Vernon  began  to  get  recon- 
ciled to  his  disappointment.  Dolores  com- 
menced to  cave. 

Just  at  this  juncture  dinner  had  to  be 
prepared  by  the  girls ;  and  Dolores,  with 
the  rest,  attended  to  this  duty. 

Dinner  was  gotten  through  pleasantly 
enough.    The  girls  whose  beaux  were  men 


26 


DOLORES. 


in  buckram,  ate  heartily,  and,  in  tlie  after- 
noon, felt  •w'cary,  and  left  the  road  unob- 
structed for  Vernon. 

The  pickle,  and  sandwiches,  and  so  fortlis, 
rallied  his  flagging  love  ;  and  he  heroically 
resolved  to  make  another  dash. 

lie  sauntered  np  carelessly  to  where  Do- 
lores was  sitting,  and  proposed  a  walk.  She 
looked  at  him  through  her  eyelashes  to  see 
whether  a  refusal  would  be  tlie  best  tactics. 
She  was  puzzled,  and  her  woman's  wit,  for 
once,  was  unequal  to  the  emergency.  She 
was  not  of  the  risking  kind,  and  assented. 

"  Let's  go  sit  at  the  roots  of  that  old  ash. 
There  is  a  pretty  knoU  in  front,  from  which 
we  can  look  deep  down  into  the  glen  that 
leads  to  the  panther's  lair,"  suggested  Ro- 
land, when  Dolores  acceded  to  his  request 
to  stroll  with  him. 

"  Any v.'hcre  yoii  choose ! "  she  gaily  an- 
swered, taking  his  proffered  arm.  "The 
view  is  magnificent  from  that  point ;  and, 
besides,  there  is  a  very  comfortable  shade." 

Roland  led  her  to  the  designated  spot, 
made  her  a  seat,  and  then  dropped  down  by 
her  side. 

"  Oh,  Dolores ! "  he  whispered,  gratefully, 
when  he  thought  he  had  succeeded  in  sub- 
duing her  coldness.  "  I  am  so  rejoiced  that 
you  have,  at  length,  concluded  to  hear  me. 
I  have  been  so  miserable,  all  day ;  but  now 
I  am  very,  very  happy.  When  you  knew 
how  devotedly  I  loved  you,  why  did  you 
treat  me  with  such  unkinduess  ?  " 

Dolores  saw  that  it  was  coming.  She 
had  niiide  him  commit  himself.  He  con- 
fessed that  he  loved  her ;  and  that  he  was 
miserable  out  of  her  society.  The  tempta- 
tion, now  that  she  had  him  at  her  mercy, 
to  protract  his  suflTering  was  too  groat.  She 
could  not  resist  it.  (What  woman  could  ?) 
So  she  made  up  her  mind  hurriedly  to  be 
inexorable. 

"  You  astonish  me,  Mr.  Vernon  1 "  she 
said  with  a  little  bounce  of  well  acted  sur- 
prise. "  What  have  I  ever  said  or  done  to 
authorize  such  a  conjecture?  I  know  that 
you  loved  me  devotedly !  Pray,  sir,  acquit 
me  of  that  charge !  " 

And  she  rose  to  her  feet,  (expecting  to  be 
pulled  back,  of  course !)  as  if  she  was  going 
to  leave  him  alone. 

He  sprang  up  too,  and  confronted  her. 

''  Then  you  spurn  my  love  !    Your  heart 


does  not  answer  to  the  maddening  passion 
that  rages  in  my  breast.  Oh,  Dolores,  Do- 
lores !  be  frank  with  me.  Speak  my  mis- 
ery, pronounce  my  doom,  or  make  me 
blessed  in  the  possession  of  your  lo " 

" Good  evening,  gentlemen  !     I  am 

so  glad  you  have  come.  Mr.  Vernon  is  so 
dull  and  uninteresting,  I  have  been  strug- 
gling for  the  last  hour  to  keep  awake." 

Dolores  said  this  lightly  and  laiighingly 
to  a  couple  of  swains,  who,  being  unable  to 
join  the  party  earlier,  had  come  out  from 
the  village  since  dinner,  and  were  advanc- 
ing to  pay  their  respects  to  her,  just  as  Ro- 
land, who  did  not  observe  their  approach, 
was  in  the  midst  of  his  passionate  avowal 
of  love. 

When  she  carelessly  uttered  the  un- 
meaning words,  she  little  knew  how  deej^ly 
they  would  sink  into  Roland's  heart  ;  nor 
did  she  notice  the  quiver  of  pain  which  con- 
vulsed him  when  she  walked  away  with 
Jones  Hyde,  the  taller  and  handsomer  of 
these  young  men. 

Roland  watched  them  until  they  passed 
out  of  sight.  Then  he  sat  down  upon  a 
huge  rock,  and,  bowing  his  head  upon  his 
hands,  thought  over  each  treasured  word 
that  had  fallen  from  her  lips,  and  remem- 
bered each  trivial  incident  that  had  oc- 
curred since  this  delicious  dream  of  young 
love  had  commenced. 

Picture  after  picture,  clearly  and  distinctly 
defined  and  shaded,  rose  before  him,  nothing 
forgotten.  Tenderly  uttered  words  rever- 
berated in  his  ears,  and  mocked  him  with 
their  unredeemed  promises.  Not  a  look, 
not  a  gesture,  not  an  utterance  of  her's 
was  forgotten.  Memory  was  tenacious  of 
all  that  had  contributed  to  excite  his  love 
and  fan  his  hopes.  ^ 

Then,  with  the  facts  all  before  him,  he 
tried  to  reconcile  them  with  the  postulate 
that  she  really  loved  him.  He  clutched  at 
this  hoi^e  as  the  drowning  man  grasps  at  a 
straw.  But  such  an  interpretation  of  her 
action,  though  the  true  one,  seemed  to  him 
a  bold  absurdity. 

Then  he  endeavored  to  reason  himself 
into  the  conviction  that  she  was  a  beautiful 
flirt,  who  had  sported  with  his  afflictions  ; 
but  he  immediately  relinquished  this  sur- 
mise, for  he  loved  her  too  much  to  do  her 
injustice. 


DOLORES, 


27 


Then  he  concluded  that  she  had  never 
loved  him,  and  that  those  actions  which  he 
had  mistaken  for  encouragement,  were  but 
the  tender  outgushings  of  a  pure,  imsus- 
pecting,  and  warm  nature. 

Even  this  speculation  was  not  entirely 
satisfactory ;  and  Eoland  soon  wearied  of 
the  effort  to  solve  the  intricate  problem, 
which  so  puzzled  his  dizzy  brain,  and  dis- 
tressed his  sorrowing  heart. 

He  lit  a  cigar,  and  commenced  smoking, 
puffing  the  light  clouds  in  all  directions, 
encircling  his  head  in  a  dense  volume  of 
thin  blue  smoke,  and  makmg  the  curling 
wreaths  dance  lightly  on  the  airy  eddies  of 
the  afternoon  breezes  which  were  playing 
around  the  hoary  mountain's  brow. 

The  glad  cheerfulness  that  had  panojilied 
him  with  happiness  in  the  morning,  while 
his  soul  was  aglow  with  sweet  aspirations, 
was  gone  ;  and  a  stony  look  that  told  of  de- 
spair was  settling  in  his  eye,  and  a  pallor 
that  whispered  of  distressing  agonies,  was 
overspreading  his  features. 

The  cigar  soothed  him  ;  his  brain  began 
to  recover  its  balance  ;  his  thoughts  were 
being  settled  into  calmness. 

After  a  while  he  threw  away  the  half-fin- 
ished Havana,  and  again  bestowed  his  at- 
tention itpon  the  subject  which  he  had  been 
contemplating  with  so  little  satisfaction  be- 
fore he  lit  his  cigar. 

Now  he  arrived  at  a  settled  conclusion, 
and,  faulty  as  it  was,  it  was  acted  upon 
without  hesitation. 

He  drew  out  a  note-book  ;  turned  its 
leaves  ;  found  a  blank  page  ;  took  his  pen- 
cil, and  wTote  a  hui'ried  note.  He  tore  the 
leaf  from  the  book,  folded  it,  and  addressed 
it  to  JNIiss  Dolores  Vaughn.  He  called  a 
lad  not  very  far  off,  and  asked  him  to  de- 
liver it. 

Then  a  great  sob ;  and  he  went  towards 
the  village. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Dolores  chatted  pleasantly  enough  with 
Jones  Hyde,  for  an  hour  or  more  ;  and,  to 
all  appearances  she  was  not  displeased  at 


the  interruption  of  her  tete-a-tcte  with  Ro- 
land Vernon. 

Looking  back  to  watch  the  effect  which 
her  departure  would  have  upon  him,  she 
took  in  the  tableau  which  has  just  been  de- 
scribed. She  saw  him  stagger  to  a  seat,. 
saw  him  bow  his  head  on  his  hands,  saw 
him  light  his  cigar,  then  throw  it  away, 
and  then  saw  him  write  a  note,  call  a  boy, 
and  go  awa}'. 

She  saw  all  this ;  but  did  not  read  its 
significance  aright. 

If  she  had  appreciated  his  situation,  and 
known  of  the  keen  suffering  which  she  had 
inflicted,  she  would  not  have  protracted  her 
absence,  but  would  have  speedily  returned 
to  console  him  with  her  lavish  smiles  and 
deep  affection. 

As  it  was  she  staid  long  away  from  the 
knoll  where  she  parted  from  him  ;  and 
frisked  gaily,  sang  snatches  of  song,  and 
seemed  as  free  from  anxiety  as  the  bright- 
plumed  birds  that  were  flying  overhead. 

Her  vivacity  charmed  her  companions  ; 
her  wit  sparkled  with  a  brilliance  that  out- 
shone all  her  former  displays  of  that  subtle 
power.  Not  a  shade  darkened  her  brow  ; 
her  heart  beat  strong  with  exultation  ;  and 
her  eyes  glistened  with  delight  and  happi- 
ness. 

Roland  Vernon  loved  her  madly,  devot- 
edly !  She  had  read  the  tale  of  his  passion 
in  his  agitated  manner  ;  she  had  heard  the 
story  in  his  sighs,  and  in  the  tremulous 
tones  of  his  musical  voice  ;  but,  better  than 
all ! — he  had  given  expression  to  its  feeling 
in  burning,  eloquent  words. 

And,  knowing  this  and  exulting  over  it, 
she  was  wild  with  a  delirium  of  joy  ! 

Yet,  ignorantly,  she  was  on  the  point  of 
losing  this  treasure  that  she  valued  so  highly. 

Oh !  that  she  had  hastened  back  to  his 
side  and  cast  herself  into  the  embrace  of 
him  Avhose  outstretched  arms  longed  to 
clasp  her,  and  whose  panting  bosom  yearned 
for  her  to  nestle  upon  and  still  its  wild  beat- 
ings !  Oh  !  that  she  had  confessed  her  soft 
desires  and  maddening  love  and  gone  to 
him  and  given  throb  for  throb,  pulsation 
for  pulsation,  kiss  for  kiss  !  Then  she  had 
won  happiness  ;  then  she  had  escaped  fast- 
ening a  great  misery  upon  her  young  life  ; 
then  she  had  not  made  for  herself  a  bed  of 
thorns  I 


28 


DOLORES. 


Dolores  wearied  of  her  escort  after  a 
Tvliile  ;  and  tired  of  the  homage  Avhich  her 
rare  charms  were  ■winning  from  those 
whose  f-pplause  brought  her  no  gratifica- 
tion. 

"  Mr.  Hyde,  I  will  return  to  the  KuoU  if 
you  please  ! "  she  said  with  a  slight  yawn. 
"  It  is  possible  that  Jlr.  Vernon  will  wait 
there  for  me,  as  I  promised  to  accept  his 
escort  back  to  the  vUlage." 

"  He  has  doubtless  forgotten  the  engage- 
ment, Miss  Dolores.  You  may  as  well  let 
me  be  his  substitute.  I  feel  sure  I  will 
place  him  under  obligations,  and  I  know  I 
will  prove  quite  as  agreeable  to  you.  He 
has  scarcely  yet  recovered  from  that  fit  of 
dullness  which  drove  you  from  his  side." 

The  fellow  said  this  with  a  significance 
that  was  conclusive  proof  that  he  had  over- 
heard a  part  of  the  conversation  which  he 
interrupted. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right  in  both  surmises," 
Dolores  negligently  responded  ;  "  but  I 
have  made  the  engagement  and  must  fulfill 
it." 

"  "WHiat  if  you  have  ?  Break  it !  It  is 
not  the  first  engagement  you  have  broken, 
I'll  wager,"  he  said  with  a  great  deal  of  im- 
pudence in  his  manner. 

"  Break  my  word,  Mr.  Hyde  !  Surely 
you  would  not  have  me  guilty  of  such  dis- 
honor ! "  she  said  half  indignantly,  half  in 
jest. 

"  A  lady's  word  ! "  said  he,  laughingly 
and  mockingly.  '•'  What  is  a  lady's  word  ? 
A  thing  so  brittle  that  the  glance  of  a  bold- 
er eye  ■^ill  shiver  it  into  atoms, — so  weak 
that  a  fop's  whisper,  if  uttered  in  a  mel- 
lower tone  than  that  which  evoked  its 
plighting,  Avill  crush  it  into  powder !  A 
lady's  honor  !  What  is  a  lady's  honor?  A 
substance  so  vaporous,  so  dreamlike,  so  im- 
material that  it  can  have  no  existence,  ex- 
cept in  a  poet's  thought,  or  a  woman's  con- 
ceit ! " 

"  And  pray,  Mr.  Hyde,  where  is  your  gal- 
lantry •? " 

She  spoke  petulantly  ;  and,  then,  recover- 
ing her  good  humor,  continued  in  the 
bantering  tone  which  he  had  assumed, 

"  Since  you  have  been  so  impolite  as  to 
give  that  definition  of  woman's  honor,  I 
will  tell  you  what  man's  gallantry  has 
gotten  to  be  in  this  rough  age  of  progress. 


Man's  gallantry  !  ^Maat  is  man's  gallant- 
ry  ?  A  poorly  preserved  relic  of  a  chiv- 
alrous era  wlien  courtesy  was  accounted  a 
virtue,  and  when  valor  shielded  innocence 
from  the  rude  insults  of  ignorant  cox- 
combs— a  once  potent  charm  of  your  sex, 
now  a  pleasant  myth,  if  I  am  to  judge  man- 
kind by  the  standards  of  this  village !  " 

And  she  dropped  him  a  mock  courtesy. 

Hyde  did  not  wince,  although  the  lash 
stung  !  but  answered  with  audacious  assur- 
ance that  trenched  almost  upon  intolerable 
impudence, 

"Mayhap,  the  immaculate  Vernon  of 
spotless  honor  and  comely  face,  hath  this 
other  grace  so  noble  in  Miss  Vaughn's  esti- 
mation." 

Dolores'  face  reddened,  and  she  instantly 
replied, 

"  Indeed;  he  has,  sir  !  Would  it  not  be 
well  for  you  to  emulate  his  virtues?  I 
shaU  certainly  insist  that  you  do  so  in  my 
presence." 

"  Good  evening.  Miss  Vaughn ! " 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Hyde  !  " 

So  Dolores  parted  from  her  escort,  near 
the  spot  where  she  had  parted  from  Roland 
a  short  time  before. 

"  Here  is  a  note  for  you  !  "  said  a  small 
boy  approaching  her  awkwardly,  as  if 
abashed  at  entering  the  presence  of  aught 
so  beautiful. 

"  Thank  you,  Sammie.  Oh  !  It's  from 
Mr.  Vernon.    Where  is  he,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  He's  gone.  Ma'am !  " 

"  Gone  !  oh  !  " 

If  Dolores  was  a  man,  the  Editor  would 
say  this  information  startled  her  out  of  her 
boots.  But  as  she  waen't,  he'll  leave  the 
reader  to  judge  its  efi'ect. 

She  hastily  unfolded  the  missive,  and 
read  its  contents  with  suspended  breath. 

Then  she  groaned ;  then  she  wept  bit- 
terly ;  then  she  shuddered,  and  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  endeavored  to  compose  her  coun- 
tenance. 

It  was  Dolores'  time  now  to  sit  upon  the 
rock  where  Roland  suffered  so  intensely. 
She  too  buried  her  face  in  her  lap  ;  sor- 
rowed over  her  lost  love  ;  pondered  till  her 
head  throbbed  with  maddening  pain. 

After  reading  his  note  she  did  not  blamo 
Roland  ;  but  how  she  rei^roached  her  own 
foolish  heart ! 


DOLORES, 


29 


"  Go  seek  him  and  tell  laim  the  truth !  " 

Thus  whispered  Love,  and  she  would 
have  obeyed  that  headstrong  counsellor. 

"  Disguise  your  Grief!     He  will  return  !  " 

And  the  voice  of  Pride,  offering  this  ad- 
vice, overruled  Love. 

She  waited  for  him  to  come  back  ;  but  he 
did  not  come.     She  was  disconsolate. 

Gradually  she  grew  calm,  and  bore  up 
more  bravely  ;  and  betook  herself  to  a 
second  perusal  of  Roland's  note. 

It  ran  thus : 

I  have  realized  too  late,  dear  Dolores,  that 
you  do  not  love  me  ;  and  that  I  am  hope- 
lessly destined  to  despair.  I  feel  too  heart- 
broken to  meet  you  again  ;  so  I  beg  you  to 
excuse  me  from  fulfilling  my  engagement 
with  you  this  evening.  I  go  South  to-mor- 
row. Farewell,  my  darling.  May  you  find 
another's  love  worthier  of  acceptance  than 
that  which  my  spurned  heart  offered. 

EoLAKD  Vernon. 

September  29th,  1859. 

"  To  think  that  he  couldn't  see  how  much 
I  loved  him  !  "  she  whispered,  as  she  kissed 
the  note.     "  How  blind  men  are !  Oh !  oh  !  " 

And  she  was  relieved  by  another  flood 
of  tears. 

When  it  was  nearly  sundown,  Dolores 
got  up,  rejoined  her  female  friends  whose 
beaux  were  men  in  buckram ;  and  with 
them  went  sadly  home. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Roland  went  directly  to  Mr.  Fairchild's 
house,  after  leaving  the  mountain  ;  and  in- 
stantly communicated  his  intention  of  ac- 
companying his  mother  to  New  York  the 
next  day. 

It    had    been    his   intention  to   stay  in 

B a  week   longer,   and  to   join   Mrs. 

Vernon  in  New  York,  where  she  purposed 
spending  several  days.  But  now  that  he 
was  out  with  Dolores  he  wanted  to  get 
home. 

As  Roland  offered  no  explanation  of  his 
change  of  plan  he  excited  a  good  deal  of 


curiosity  among  the  members  of  Mr.  Fair- 
child's  family  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
hurried  departure ;  but  his  reticence  on 
this  siibject  was  respected.  So,  having 
made  all  necessary  preparations  that  even- 
ing, he  left  the  next  morning,  leaving  be- 
hind him  a  pleasant  impression  on  the 
mind  of  his  hospitable  host,  and  carrying 
with  him  a  grateful  remembrance  of  the 
kindness  which  had  been  bestowed  on  him 
during  his  visit,  and  the  esteem  and  re- 
gret of  his  relatives  whom  he  had  seen  for 
the  first  time  during  his  brief  sojourn  in 
Vermont. 

About  ten  days  subsequent  to  their  de- 
parture    from    B ,    Roland    and    Mrs. 

Vernon  reached  Rushbrook,  where  they 
were  received  with  a  quiet  gladness  by  its 
master,  and  with  boisterous  demonstrations 
of  pleasure  by  the  servants.  Roland  found 
the  library  fixed  as  he  had  requested  ;  and, 
as  he  was  not  quite  ready  to  commence  the 
practice  of  his  profession,  he  made  his 
headquarters  in  this  pleasant  snuggery. 
The  comfort  of  the  dear  old  room,  which 
others  had  never  appreciated  before,  be- 
came so  manifest  that,  at  length.  Col.  and 
Mrs.  Vernon  insensibly  glided  into  the 
habit  of  joining  Roland  there,  until,  after 
a  while,  it  became  the  favorite  sitting  room 
of  the  house. 

Roland  was  lounging  in  his  favorite  seat 
in  the  library,  enjoying  the  twilight  calm, 
about  a  month  after  his  return  to  Rush- 
brook,  when  his  father  entered  and  took  a 
seat  by  his  side. 

This  was  not  usual  at  that  hour ;  so  Ro- 
land assumed  an  erect  attitude  and  prepared 
for  business.  He  did  not  know  what  was 
coming  ;  but  that  something  was  about  to 
be  sprung  upon  him,  he  was  confident. 

Roland  was  not  mistaken. 

Col.  Vernon  informed  him  that  by  Mr. 
Leigh's  will  he  had  inherited  about  a  quar- 
ter of  a  million  dollars,  in  stocks,  slaves, 
lands,  and  other  property  ;  that,  as  the  ex- 
ecutor of  that  will,  and  as  his  guardian,  the 
supervision  of  that  estate  had  been  in  his. 
Col.  Vernon's,  hands  ;  that  all  debts  due  by 
and  to  the  estate  had  bee)i  settled,  and  that 
he  was  ready  to  account  for  and  turn  over 
the  principal,  and  the  profits  which  had  ac- 
crued thereon  up  to  date ;  and  reminded 
him  that  he  was  now  Of  age. 


30 


DOLORES. 


■Roliind  intimated  that  thorc  was  plenty 
of  time  to  talk  about  sucli  matters. 

Col.  Vernon  held  a  different  opinion  ;  and 
requested  his  son  to  appoint  a  day  for  a 
thorough  examination  of  his  accounts,  and 
an  inspection  of  his  vouchers ;  so  that  the 
necessary  receipts  and  releases  could  be 
handed  over  to  him  as  a  discharge  from  his 
responsibility. 

Roland  impulsively  declared  that  he  had 
no  desire  to  make  such  an  examination; 
but  asked  for  the  receipts  that  he  might 
sign  them  at  once. 

"  The  idea  of  my  examining  your  ac- 
counts, and  inspecting  your  vouchers  !  Tou 
cannot  have  so  poor  an  opinion  of  my  af- 
fection and  gratitude  as  to  believe  me  capa- 
ble of  so  unworthy  an  action.  Of  course 
your  accounts  and  vouchers  are  right !  So 
what's  the  use  of  my  looking  over  them  ?  I 
couldn't  make  heads  or  tails  of  them  any- 
how. What  do  I  know  of  such  things? 
There  now !  " 

This  may  have  been  pretty  fair  logic  for 
a  young  man  who  interpreted  Reason  to 
mean  Feeling  ;  but,  for  some  cause,  it  failed 
to  convince  Col.  Vernon. 

"  But,  my  son,"  broke  in  the  old  lawyer, 
"  this  examination  must  be  made ;  and 
immediately.  Therefore,  you  will  oblige 
me  by  saying  when  you  will  make  it." 

"  I  don't  intend  that  it  shall  ever  be 
made  ! "  said  Roland,  Avith  a  wonderful 
display  of  firmness  in  the  compression  of 
his  lip. 

"  Enough,  sir !  "  snorted  the  irate  Colonel. 
"  Damn  my  eyes  if  I  don't  file  a  bill  in 
equity  to  compel  somebody  to  examine  and 
receipt." 

"Don't  do  that!"  cried  Roland,  "If 
you  are  bent  on  an  examination,  I'll  make 
it  or  have  it  made." 

"  If  you  arc  too  lazy  to  do  your  oT\-n  work, 
you  would  do  weU  to  employ  John  Morris- 
son.  But,  if  you  ever  intend  to  be  a  law- 
yer, the  drudgery  of  an  inspection  of  these 
accounts  and  vouchers  would  be  of  great 
advantage." 

The  Colonel  growled  out  this  response ; 
and,  in  no  very  angelic  temper,  strode  out 
of  the  room. 

Roland  having  given  in  to  his  father's 
wishes,  now  became  impatient  to  get  this 
business  off  his  mind ;  and,  early  the  fol- 


lowing morning  went  into  town  to  engage 
the  services  of  the  attorney,  who  the  Colonel 
suggested  for  the  work. 

On   the   Court  House   Square,  in  C 

town,  were  a  number  of  small  frame  build- 
ings, tenanted  by  gentlemen  of  the  legal 
profession  ;  and  thither  Roland  made  his 
way ;  for  in  one  of  these  offices  Mr.  John 
Morrisson  held  forth — that  is  to  say,  wrote 
deeds,  prepared  his  cases,  read  law,  smoked 
his  pipe,  held  consultations  with  his  clients, 
talked  slang  and  did  other  things  pertain- 
ing to  the  practice  of  his  profession. 

When  Roland  stepped  into  the  little  por- 
tico of  the  attorney's  office,  Morrisson,  who 
was  engaged  in  conversation  Avith  Gen- 
eral Woodruff,  and  had  evidently  been 
drinking  with  him,  rose  and  met  him  with 
a  pleasant  smile. 

"  So  you  have  come  back  to  C town 

a  full-fledged  lawyer,  Roland?  I  wish  you 
much  success  on  the  Circuit !  "  said  Mor- 
risson, with  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand ; 
and  after  Roland  had  exchanged  a  greeting 
with  General  Woodriiff,  continuing, 

"  I'm  an  old  stager,  and  know  the  short 
cuts,  my  boy  ;  and  with  your  permission, 
I  will  give  you  a  little  advice." 

Roland  expressed  his  thanks,  and  said  he 
would  be  happy  to  receive  it. 

"  It  is.  Keep  steady  in  the  backstep  ! " 

Roland  was  puzzled  ;  and,  at  a  loss  to  un- 
derst  '.nd  the  drift  of  Morrisson's  remark,  re- 
plied. 

"  I  trust,  sir,  that  I  shall  do  whatever  is 
right  and  becoming  as  a  member  of  the  pio- 
fcssion.     Is  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  Roland  —  not  exactly  !  " 
responded  Morrisson,  in  a  deep  sepulchral 
tone  that  he  always  assumed  when  he  had 
been  free  in  his  potations.  "  No,  no !  I  see 
that  you  have  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet,  that 
Judge  Pearson  has  failed  to  teach  you. 
General  Woodruff  can  tell  you  what  it  is  to 
keep  steady  in  the  backstep.  Ask  him 
what  he  docs  when  he  goes  home  with  thir- 
teen drinks  aboard,  eyes  weak,  face  flushed, 
utterance  thick,  and  is  met  at  the  door  by 
that  paragon  of  loveliness — Miss  BeUe." 

"Perhaps,  you  mean  that  I  must  not 
drink  any  more  than  I  can  gracefully  carry," 
suggested  Roland. 

"Of  course,  I  do!  Keep  steady  in  the 
backstep ;  or,  if  you  please,  carry  your  li- 


DOLORES. 


31 


quor  and  don't  let  it  carry  you.     Take  me 
for  your  exemplar !  " 

"  I  am  pleased  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  am 
very  abstemious  in  my  habits,  Mr.  Morris- 
sou,"  and  with,  a  penetrating  look ;  "  and 
that  I  have  the  greatest  abhorrence  for  drun- 
kenness and  drunkards." 

"Delighted  to  hear  it,  Roland!  The 
great  secret  of  your  father's  success,  and 
mine,  is  that  both  of  us  are  perfectly  tem- 
perate men." 

As  if  to  add  its  testimony  to  the  truth 
of  this  statement,  Morrisson's  nose  blos- 
£omed  with  a  brighter  carnation  hue  ;  and 
his  bloodshot  eyes  blinked  till  the  blue 
devils  fairly  danced  on  his  unsteady  glances. 

"  Yes,  Roland,"  he  continued,  "  your 
father  has  always  been  a  marvellously  sober 
man  for  a  lawyer ;  and  I,  in  spite  of  the 
temptations  with  which  I  am  beset  by 
General  WoodruflP,  have  tried  to  make  my 
life  a  feeble  imitation  of  his  ;  knowing  that 
through  temperance  and  probity  only  can 
eminence  at  the  bar  be  attained." 

"  I  have  heard,  IMr.  Morrisson,  that  im- 
pudence and  self-reliance  are  great  assis- 
tants in  the  struggle  for  position  in  the  pro- 
fession ;  and  I  am  surprised  that  you  have 
achieved  so  much  distinction  with  the 
hindrances  of  natural  modesty  and  bash- 
fulness  to  contend  against.  How  have  you 
managed  ?  " 

Fairly  hit  by  this  shaft  from  Roland's 
quiver,  Morrisson  squirmed  in  his  seat  and 
sotto  voce  remarked  to  Woodruff. 

"  Damn  the  fellow  ! — He's  a  chip  of  the 
old  block.  So  punctilliously  polite  :  so  in- 
fernally sharp !  " 

"  Why,  Roland,  that's  a  real  puzzler ! 
I've  talked  with  the  old  Colonel  about  that 
very  thing  ;  and  we  are  pretty  well  agreed 
that  our  rapid  rise  is  due  to  the  facts  that 
we  know  more  law,  and  have  more  brains 
than  all  the  rest  of  our  legal  brethren  put 
together.     Eh ! " 

The  sly  old  rascal  chuckled ;  and  then 
added. 

'■  Besides,  I  had  the  benefit  of  General 
Woodruff's  patronage  when  I  first  came  to 
the  bar.     I  owe  him  a  great  deal." 

Tlie  General  was  too  far  gone  to  under- 
stand that  Morrisson  was  complimenting 
him,  and  he  muttered  out, 


"  No  ;  you  don't  owe  me  any  thing — not 
a  cent." 

And  then  he  laughed  very  foolishly. 

Roland  now  expressed  his  desire  to  con 
suit  Mr.  Morrisson  on  business  ;  and  re- 
marked that  he  presumed  it  would  be  i>re- 
ferable  for  him  to  call  again,  next  day. 

"  No.  Crack  your  whip !  crack  your 
whip,  boy!  No  better  time  than  now. 
Will  you  walk  into  the  back-room?"  said 
ISIorrisson,  brightening  up  at  the  prospect  of 
something  to  do  in  a  business  way. 

Invited  thus,  Roland  gave  Morrisson  an 
insight  of  the  matters  which  he  desired  to 
have  him  arrange  ;  and  received  his  assu- 
rance that  he  would  bestow  upon  them  an 
immediate  attention. 

That  night  Colonel  Vernon  and  Roland 
were  smoking  in  the  library  ;  and  in  one  of 
the  pauses  of  their  conversation  the  son 
turned  to  the  father,  and  inquired  sud- 
denly. 

"  Why  in  the  world  did  you  send-  me  to 
Mr.  IMorrissou  ?  He  was  drunk  to-day ;  and 
talked  in  a  strain  that  gave  me  a  very  poor 
opinion  of  his  capacity.  Is  he  a  man  of  any 
sense  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  he  is — a  man  of  excellent  mind, 
and  profound  reading.  But  then  he  is  a 
person  of  no  moral  principle,  no  social 
position,  and  might  be  aptly  called  a  great 
knave.     Still  he  is  a  good  hearted  fellow." 

"Indeed  !  "  ejaculated  Roland. 

"  Yes !  "  continued  the  Colonel.  "  He 
has  &  curious  history  too.  He  was  a  poor 
apprentice,  but  displayed  some  talent,  so 
as  to  attract  General  Woodruff's  attention  ; 
and  he  took  a  fancy  to  him,  educated  him, 
and  introduced  him  to  a  very  fair  practice. 
He  had  the  ability  to  sustain  himself ;  and 
now  stands  well  as  a  sound  counsellor  and 
a  shrewd  advocate.  But  his  genius  lies  in 
his  quickness  to  detect  a  flaw  in  papers — 
that  was  why  I  sent  you  to  him.  If  I  have 
made  any  errors  he  will  be  sure  to  point 
them  out." 

"  Oh  I  That  was  the  reason,  was  it.  One 
would  not  take  him  for  an  educated  man. 
Ho  hag  a  vernacular  of  his  own,  that  is  so 
full  of  slang !  " 

"  Yes.  But,  in  the  Court-House,  he  is  a 
master  of  the  mother  tongue,  and  a  very 
forcible    speaker.    It  is  really  surpriding 


32 


DOLORES. 


that  a  person  of  fsucli  viilprar  liabits  of  con- 
versation, sliould  be  able  to  sliake  them  off 
at  will.    But  he  can !  " 

"  I  don't  like  him  ;  although  he  appears 
to  be  rather  fond  of  me.  He  is  so  coarse  !  " 
observed  Roland,  after  a  pause. 

"  Certainly,  lie  is  ;  and  unreliable  too — 
still,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  he  has  a 
very  warm  heart !  " 

And  the  Colonel  refilled  his  pipe. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  he,  starting  in  his  chair,  and 
fumbling  in  his  pocket,  and  then  drawing 
out  a  package.  "  I  had  nearJy  forgotten.  I 
liave  something  for  you."' 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Roland,  quietly. 

"  You  remember  the  sealed  package 
which  Mr.  Leigh  left  for  you,  to  be  read 
upon  your  reaching  your  majority  ?  It  was 
placed  in  my  custody,  you  know.  Here  it 
is — I  brought  it  out  from  the  office," 

Roland's  eyes  opened  widely.  He,  too, 
had  almost  forgotten.  Then,  with  a  mingled 
look  of  curiosity  and  dread,  he  took  it,  and 
held  it  toAingly  in  his  hands. 

After  a  paxise  he  broke  the  seal,  and 
commenced  to  peruse  the  paper,  eagerly  ; 
his  eyes  dilating  with  wonder  as  he  pro- 
ceeded. 

He  had  nearly  finished  reading  it,  when 
lie  bounced  from  his  chair,  and  involun- 
tarily exclaimed, 

"GeeatGod!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  his 
father, 

Roland  hesitated  ;  blushed  ;  and  then  in 
a  tone  of  filial  reverence,  sloAvly  said. 

"  I  know,  sir,  that  you  will  not  attribute 
what  I  am  constrained  to  do  to  any  ab- 


sence of  confidence  in  you ;  but  tliis  letter — 
I  cannot  disclose  its  tenor !  " 

In  a  moment,  he  added. 

"  I  am  at  liberty  to  read  you  this  ranch, 
however,  which  will  justify  my  action." 

Before  he  could  commence  reading.  Col. 
Vernon  stopped  him,  saying  warmly. 

"  I  want  no  explanation,  Roland.  I  pre- 
fer that  you  olBFer  none.  If  it  were  proper 
for  you  to  communicate  your  secrets  to  me, 
I  am  sure  you  would  not  hesitate.  Do  not 
proceed,  I  pray  you !  " 

"  But  I  must  read  you  this  paragraph. 
To  do  so  is  a  part  of  the  obligation  im- 
posed by  my  promise  to  grandfather." 

"  Yery  well— go  on  ! " 

"  He  writes ;  '  In  conclusion,  I  desire 
'to  impress  you  with  the  necessity  of 
'  guarding  the  communications  which  I 
'  make,  with  the  strictest  vigilance,  even 
'  from  your  father.  While  I  am  fuUy  alive 
'  to  the  knowledge  that  his  counsel  would 
'  greatly  assist  you  in  the  performance  of 
'  the  responsibility  which  I  have  im^wsed 
'  upon  you,  I  cannot  obtain  the  consent  of 
'my  judgment  to  entrust  any  except  one 
'  of  the  Leigh  blood  with  these  secrets  of 
'  my  life  ;  and,  that  no  resemblance  of  a 
'disturbed  confidence  between  you  and 
'  him — for  both  of  you  are  highly  esteemed 
'  and  greatly  loved  by  me— may  arise,  I 
'  desire  you  upon  the  perusal  of  this,  to 
'  read  this  injunction  to  him.'  I  regret, 
sir,  that  he  has  made  the  requirement." 

What  was  it  that  caused  Roland  to  start 
so  during  the  pervisal  of  that  letter '? 

It  told  him  that — John  Morrisson  was  his 
uncle ! 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Scene:    One  of  the   little  lawyer's  of- 
fices on  tlie  Court  House  Square  of  C 


town.  Time:  xipril,  I860.  Dramatis 
Person^:  A  pair  of  lawyeriings — one 
the  Entertainer,  tlie  other  his  Guest. 

As    the     Entertainer      leans    gracefully 
back  in   his  chair,   holding  a  half  closed 
leather  bound  volume  in   liis  hand,  he  has 
an  air  of  dignified  repose  that  is  pleasing 
to  the  spectator,  while  there  is  that  in  his 
face,  and  in  the  contour  of  his  head,  which 
would    instantly    strike    the    eye    of   the 
physiognomist  and  phrenologist'.    His  fea- 
tures are  handsome,  and  indicate  frankness, 
nervousness,    and    self-reliance;    his    eyes 
are  bright  with  a  blended  tenderness  and 
fire  ;  his  forehead  is  cast  in  an  intellectual 
mould,  and  crowned  with  an  abundance  of 
golden  hair,  which,  if  worn  longer,  would 
cluster  in  curly  profusion  about  his  shoul- 
ders.    The  conformation   of  his  skull  pro- 
claims   large     Individuality,    Comparison, 
Causality,   Ideality,   Spirituality,  Conscien- 
tiousness,   Benevolence    and    Self-Esteem, 
coupled  Avith  very  large  Constructiveness,' 
Combativeness,  Adhesiveness,   and    Order, 
but  these   are   balanced  by  small  Vitative- 
ness  and  Veneration,  moderate  Hope,  aver- 
age Firmness,  Acquisitiveness,  and  Approba- 
tiveness.     His  organs  of  Secretive n  ess.  Cau- 
tiousness and  Imitation  are  insignificantly 
developed,  while  large  Amativeness  and  Phi- 
loprogenitiveness,  with  only  average  Con- 
jugality and  Continuity,  are,  with  the  rest, 
under  the    control   of  a  highly   excitable 
temperament. 

The  Visitor's  face,  features,  form,  all  at- 
test the  vital  power  of  his  structure.     The 
3 


full  hazel  eyes,  the  Ught,  sandy  hair,  the 
straight  large  nose,  the  firm  but  sensual  ex- 
pression of  the  mouth,  and  the  robust  frame, 
capable  of  great  endurance,  are  in  marked 
contrast  with   the  general  exterior  of  his 
companion,  who  is  much  more   delicately 
built.     The  large  frontal  region  of  his  head 
tells  of  a  fine  mental  endowment,  that  is 
backed  by  great  Veneration  though  small 
Benevolence    and    Conscientiousness  ;    be 
sides,  he  has  very  large  Firmness  and  De 
structiveness,  tempered  by  quite  as  much 
Acquisitiveness,  Cautiousness,  and  Appro- 
I  bativeness ;   and   well    developed    Human 
Nature,   Self-Esteem,   Continuity,    and    Se- 
cretiveness,   with   but  little    Amativeness, 
Conjugality,  or  Adhesiveness. 

"  I  am  glad  to  learn  that  you  have  opened 
here,"  remarked  the  guest;  "and  I  hope 
that  your  office  may  be  flocked  with  cli- 
ents." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you !  "  responded  the  other. 
"  But  I  fear  both  you  and  I  will  have  to 
wait  a  good  while  first.  I  see  that  you  too 
have  taken  an  office  on  this  Row." 

"Yes!  But,  tell  me,  why  in  the  world 
didn't  you  go  into  partnership  with  your 
father!  A  most  excellent  opportunity!" 
curiosity  prompted  the  first  speaker  to  in- 
quire. 

"  Because  I  preferred  not  to  grow  up  un- 
der a  hot-house  culture.  I  can  afford  to 
wait  for  practice ;  and  I  think  it  will  be  better 
for  me  to  do  so  than  to  be  pushed  ahead  !  " 
was  the  quietly  offered  explanation. 

"May  your  highest    ambition    be  rea- 
lized !      But  don't  I  envy  you  your  ability 
to  wait !  "  replied  the  guest  wiih  a  smack 
of  jealousy  in  his  tone. 
"  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  take  pleas 


34 


D  0  L  0  R  F,  S . 


ure  in  advancing  any  funds  that  you  may 
need.  Wlien  you  are  pushed  don't  hesi- 
tate to  command  me  and  my  resources!" 
generously  exclaimed  the  more  fortunate 
professional  brother. 

"Much  obliged!  But  I  trust  I  shaU 
have  no  occasion.     Good  morning!" 

And,  so  saying,  Paul  Adams  rose  from 
his  seat  and  left  Roland  Vernon  to  solitude 
and  his  hooks. 

In  the  same  classes,  both  in  the  prepara- 
tory schools,  college,  and  law  school,  Paul 
Adams,  as  in  their  boyish  sports,  had  been 
Roland  Vernon's  persevering  rival ;  and, 
now  that  both  were  at  the  starting  point 
of  their  professional  careers,  when  the  re- 
alities of  life  were  to  be  grappled  with, 
and  the  emoluments  and  honors  of  triumph 
were  to  be  struggled  for  in  a  sharp  wrestle 
with  the  world,  entertaining  similar  aspi- 
rations, commanding  nearly  balanced  pow- 
ers, still  rivals,  and  eager  for  the  contest, 
these  young  men  Avaited  impatiently  for 
the  signal  of  onset. 

Vernon  was  the  wealthier,  and  did  not 
need  the  paltry  gains  for  which  the  other 
sought,  but  his  soul  was  athirst  for  fame  ; 
yet,  while  Adams  was  entirely  dependent 
on  his  professional  labors  for  support,  this 
served  but  as  a  whip  to  lash  his  energies  in- 
to a  faster  gallop. 

Vernon  was  haughty,  though  kind-heart- 
ed ;  unpopular,  though  strictly  honorable ; 
irritable,  though  generous  to  a  lavish  de- 
gree. Brave,  intelligent,  candid,  affection- 
ate, ambitious. 

Adams  was  bland,  but  selfish  ;  popular, 
but  without  principle  ;  good  tempered,  but 
grasping  and  avaricious.  Plucky,  smart, 
sly,  calculating,  cool,  aspiring. 

Both  were  energetic,  able,  and  well  edu- 
cated. 

Vernon  was  a  gentleman :  Adams  was  a 
courtier. 

Either  had  the  talent  to  fill  distinguished 
position.  But  while  Vernon  had  the  in- 
tegrity to  adorn,  he  lacked  the  art  to  secure. 
On  the  other  liand,  Adams  had  the  craft  to 
attain,  but  was  without  the  probity  to 
merit. 

Each  knew  intuitively  that  the  other  was 
to  be  his  unrelenting  competitor  in  the 
race  for  advancement ;  and  each  prepared 
for  the  contest. 


It  was  to  be  a  long  warfare,  and  Brains 
were  to  meet  Brains  ! 

"  On  whose  side  will  victory  stand  ?  " 

They  knew  each  other's  mettle,  and 
asked  themselves  this  question. 

"Can  it  be,"  thought  Vernon,  "that  Policy 
and  Chicanery  are  mightier  than  Principle 
and  Energy  ?  " 

"Assuredly,"  thought  Adams,  "unscru- 
pulous Diplomacy  will  achieve  more  than 
hard-working  Integrity  !  " 

It  was  a  moral  doubt  which  the  issue  of 
their  warfare  was  to  solve. 

The  battle  was  not  to  be  one  in  which 
the  forces  of  Intellect  preponderating  on  this 
side  or  the  other,  could  give  the  honors  of 
triumph.  They  were  equally  matched ; 
and,  as  the  leaf  is  driven  before  the  rude 
blasts  of  the  ruffian  wind,  so  was  Destiny 
to  impel  them  to  tramp  in  their  appointed 
order  to  the  goal,  where  the  grim  Tyrant 
stands,  blade  in  hand,  ready  to  cut  down 
the  ranks  of  the  solemn  procession  of  Life 
as  each  platoon  finishes  its  weary  march. 

By  descent  and  social  relation  Vernon 
and  Adams  were  representatives  of  distinct 
classes.  Morally,  and  in  their  religions, 
they  were  at  antipodes. 

Vernon  came  from  Norman  stock  ;  Adams 
from  Saxon.  Vernon  was  a  Cavalier ;  Adams 
a  Puritan.  Vernon  was  a  disbeliever,  but  j 
clung  sublimely  to  the  Golden  Rule,  and 
endeavored  to  do  unto  others  as  he  wished 
them  to  do  unto  him ;  Adams  was  a  profes- 
sor of  Christianity,  but  his  faith  was  not 
made  manifest  in  his  works.  Both,  con- 
strained by  their  blood,  by  the  examples 
given  them  in  their  homes,  and  moulded 
by  an  invisible  but  irresistible  influence, 
illustrated  in  their  lives,  their  thoughts, 
their  deeds,  the  impress  of  birth,  association 
and  education. 

They  were  puppets,  and  danced  as  Fate 
pulled  the  wires.  All  humanity  does  the 
same  :  it  is  Nature's  irresistible  law  ! 

The  young  lawyers  commenced  equal, 
but  their  progress  was  unequal. 

Vernon,  hopeful,  persevering  and  steady, 
was  content  to  wait  for  clients :  Adams, 
energetic,  fuU  of  tact,  paying  no  respect  to 
the  time-honored  punctilio  of  the  profes- 
sion, solicited  and  obtained  a  class  of  busi 
ness  that  few  of  his  feUows  would  have  ac 
cepted. 


DOLORES. 


35 


In  tlie  past  they  had  been  enemies.  But 
Vernon,  whose  dislikes,  as  he  grew  older, 
moderated,  felt  his  heart  warm  towards  his 
rival,  and  sought  to  further  his  interests. 
Adams'  boyish  hatred,  however,  intensified 
as  ho  advanced  in  years,  although  he  learned 
to  feign  a  cordiality  which  he  never  en- 
tertained. So  they  stood  towards  one  an- 
other. 

Nevertheless  they  were  frequently  thrown 
by  circumstances  into  juxtaposition,  and 
partly  on  account  of  Vernon's  kindliness  of 
disposition,  and  partly  on  account  of  a  sort 
of  sullen  gratitude  which  Adams  felt  to- 
wards the  man  who  had  saved  his  life,  for 
a  few  years  they  were  intimate  enough  to 
be  put  down  in  Rumor's  memorandum- 
book,  as  very  devoted  friends. 

And  so  they  got  along.  Vernon  treating 
Adams  kindly— Adams  behaving  towards 
Vernon,  politely. 

And  as  the  months  wore  away,  they  re- 
pressed the  hatred  of  rivalry,  or,  at  least 
disguised  it,  under  the  show  of  mutual  re- 
gard. 

But  Vernon's  professional  prospects  grew 
no  brighter ;  while  Adams'  became  more 
flourishing. 


CHAPTER  II. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Paul  Adams 
had  a  step-sister— Pretty  Alice  Reeves  ! 

Alice  passed  through  all  the  stages  of 
lovely  girlhood  uncontaminated  by  the  in- 
fluences that  surrounded  her  in  the  old 
clergyman's  family. 

She  blossomed  into  womanhood  with  a 
heart  gushing  with  warmth  and  generos- 
ity ;  and,  Avith  the  susceptibility  which  is 
ever  a  characteristic  of  such  sensitive  na- 
tures, she  cherished  the  fond  impression 
which  Roland  Vernon's  youthful  heroism 
made  on  her  fancy  with  the  utmost  ten- 
derness. 

^  Since  that  day  when  he  carried  her  in 
his^  arms  into  the  study  of  the  Parsonage, 
while  she  was  deliriously  acclaiming  his 
courage  and  her  gratitude',  her  imagination 
had  pictured  him  as  the  embodiment  of  all  [ 


I  those  noble  traits  of  character  whicli  woman 
I  attributes  to  her  ideal  of  manly  virtue. 

The  image  of  this  youth,  fostered  in  her 
guileless  heart  with  such  sentiments  of  ad- 
miration and  esteem,  imperceptibly  wield- 
ed a  marvellous  power  over  her  thoughts  ; 
and,  ere  she  knew  the  nature  of  the  pa°  sion 
that  was  impelling  her  to  a  mad  idolatrv, 
she  learned  to  love  him  with  aU  the  strength 
and  wildness  of  girlish  and  romantic  enthu- 
siasm.     Without   a  struggle  she  yielded 
the  entire  mastery  of  her  "soul  to  the  crea- 
ture of  her  own  excited  imagination. 
Yes,  creature  of  an  excited  imagination ! 
For  however  worthy  Roland  Vernon  may 
have  been  of  her  love— and  he  was  worthy ! 
—  it    n-as  not   this   real   character  before 
which  her  soul  bowed  with  a  more  than 
oriental  idolatry,   and   at   whose  feet  the 
treasure  of  her  pure  young  affections   was 
laid  as  an  oblation  of  devotion. 

With  this  secret  locked  in  her  breast ; 
ashamed  that  she  had  given,  unsought,  the 
rich  wealth  of  her  love  ;  trembling  lest  she 
should  disclose  her  feelings  in  her  deport, 
ment  or  conversation ;  blushing  at  the  in- 
delicacy that  enjoyed  the  indulgence  of  this 
unchecked  fondness,  but  unwilling  to  be 
deprived  of  the  delightful  emotions  which 
this  sweet  consoler  gave,  she  entered  so- 
ciety. 

And,  then,  how  she  was  tried ! 
_  She  was  constantly  thrown  into  associa- 
tion with  her  idol,  who  never  suspected  her 
love  ;  and  she  soon  found  it  becoming  more 
and  more  impossible  fur  her  to  hide  the 
tell-tale  glow  of  pleasure  that  blushed  in 
her  cheek  whenever  he  approached,  or  ad- 
dressed her.  And,  what  tortures  she  suf- 
fered ! 

Alice  was  not  long  in  realizmg  that  she 
must  either  absent  herself  from  all  gather- 
ings where  the  ordeal  of  a  meeting  with 
Roland  would  be  necessary,  or  that  his 
glances  would  penetrate  beyond  the  cover- 
ing that  veiled  her  heart,  and  he  would  read 
the  tale  inscribed  on  its  tablets. 

She  acted  on  this  reasoning  ;  resolved  to 
avoid  him;  and,  consequently,  recoiled 
from  all  intercourse  with  those  of  her  com- 
panions in  whose  company  she  had  met  him 
oftenest. 

Now  Roland  awoke  to  the  knowledge 
that  her  acquaintance  had  afforded  him  a 


36 


DOLORES. 


great  deal  of  pleasure.  He  missed  her. 
Then  he  watched  for  her.  Then  he  became 
impatient  to  see  her  upon  finding  that  she 
was  hard  to  be  met. 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  that  she  had 
assisted  him  to  banish  Dolores  from  his 
thoughts,  and  that  the  void  in  his  heart 
had  been  in  a  measure  filled  by  this  new 
friend. 

He  commenced  instituting  comparisons 
between  them.  He  reached  the  conclusion 
that  he  rather  liked  this  unobtrusive  girl 
whose  cheerful  face,  a  picture  of  quiet  hap- 
piness, Avas  so  sweet  to  gaze  upon,  and 
whose  manner  was  so  soft  and  pleasant, 
better  even  than  the  mad-cap  hoj-den,  as 
changeable  as  an  April  day  and  as  lovely, 
whose  flashing  beauty  and  tormenting  ver- 
satility of  reserve  and  frankness,  coyness 
and  boldness,  had  well  nigh  destroyed  his 
peace. 

So  Dolores'  star  began  to  decline ;  and 
Alice's  commenced  to  rise. 

Roland  grew  uneasy  and  petulant  when 
he  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  his  anxiety 
to  enjoy  Alice's  society  was  unlikely  to  be 
gratified.  "Which  was  had  for  Dolores'  as- 
pirations ! 

Nest  he  adopted  a  habit  of  taking  long 
rambles  in  the  woods,  and  singing  old  love 
songs,  and  thinking  of  Alice.  And  that 
was  a  good  sign  that  he  was  falling  in  love 
with  her,  or  that  he  was  already  in  love  ! 

These  walks,  after  the  habit  had  been 
contracted  for  several  weeks,  led  to  some- 
thing. 

He  met  Alice  one  afternoon  ! 

She  appeared  to  be  pleased  to  meet  with 
him.     He  was  thrilled  with  delight. 

After  separating  from  her  at  the  Parson- 
age gate — for  he  walked  home  with  her — 
he  thought  that  he  had  noticed  some  pecu- 
liarity in  her  manner,  an  undefinable 
glimpse  of  something  that  gave  assurance 
that  he  was  not  regarded  with  indifference. 

He  took  courage  from  this  ;  and,  as  the 
meeting  was  such  a  pleasant  one,  deter- 
mined to  take  the  same  stroll  every  after- 
noon. 

Every  afternoon  for  a  fortnight  he  took 
the  walk.     But  he  didn't  meet  Alice  again. 

This  worried  him  !  But  he  grew  more 
and  more  alive  to  the  graces  and  attractions 
of  which  he  was  deprived  by  her  avoidance 


of  his  attentions.  In  short,  he  was  madly 
in  love  with  the  woman  whose  life  he  had 
saved.  And  she  was  madly  in  love  with 
her  rescuer. 

But,  all  this  time,  preserver  and  pre- 
served were  in  ignorance  of  the  existence 
of  that  passion  which  each  had  awakened. 

In  the  end,  Roland  was  convinced  that 
Alice  was  avoiding  him,  for  she  abandoned 
her  favorite  walks  as  fast  as  he  found  them 
out.  He  was  exceedingly  annoyed.  But 
his  love  became  more  intense,  as  the  diffi- 
culty of  gratifying  his  longings  became 
more  insurmountable.   And  so  things  icent ! 

He  could  not  fathom  the  mystery  of  her 
perverse  avoidance  of  his  attentions. 

Oh,  Roland  1  How  blind  !  liow  ignorant 
of  the  lore  of  woman's  heart !  Poor,  un- 
sophisticated youth ! 

Still  he  blundered  on  ;  and,  blundering, 
stumbled  on  a  circumstance.  Then  he  was 
suddenly  illuminated  with  intelligence. 
His  perceptions  became  clear  and  he  pushed 
his  advantage. 

He  met  Alice  one  afternoon.  She  was 
about  to  retire  hastily.  He  saw  that  this 
was  his  time  to  find  out  the  cause  of  her 
quickness  to  fly  from  his  presence.  Seeing, 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  interrogate. 

Aiiproaching  her  with  a  quick  impulsive 
step,  he  fastened  his  frank  bold  eyes  on 
her  face  and  extended  his  hand,  with  a  salu- 
tation. 

Alice  took  it ;  glanced  shyly  at  him  ; 
blushed  ;  dropped  her  eyes ;  and  stood  trem- 
bling while  he  questioned  : 

"  What  have  I  done  to  offend  you.  Miss 
Alice  ?  Why  do  you  shun  me  ?  It  is  hard 
to  be  deprived  of  your  society  without 
knowing  what  misdemeanor  has  merited 
the  penalty  1 " 

She  was  startled  at  the  directness  and 
earnestness  of  the  question ;  and  confused- 
ly replied, 

"  Nothing,  sir !  I'm  sure  you  must  be 
jesting! " 

Roland  looked  at  her  a  moment,  as  if 
he  would  read  her  uncoined  thoughts,  and 
then  asked, 

"  Have  you  answered  me  candidly  ? 
Haven't  I  provoked  your  anger  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ! "'  was  the  trembling  response. 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  run  from  me  when- 
ever you  see  me  approaching.    For  two 


DOLORES. 


37 


moutlis  I  have  been  seeking  j^ou,  yet  you  are 
averse  to  talking  with  me.  Whenever  I 
meet  you,  as  soon  as  you  politely  can  do  so, 
you  withdraw.  Surely  you  must  have  some 
reason  for  this !  " 

She  was  silent ;  but  her  heart  beat  with 
tumultuous  throbs.    Roland  continued, 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  persecute  you  with 
my  attention,  Miss  Reeves ;  but  I  think  I 
deserve  to  know  the  character  and  extent 
of  my  oflfense.  And  I  m^ist  know !  I  value 
your  esteem  too  highly  to  forfeit  it  without 
an  eiFort  for  its  retention." 

Alice's  frame  shook  with  agitation  ;  the 
roses  bloomed  in  her  cheeks  ;  her  bosom 
heaved  with  great  billows  of  emotion, 
like  the  tempest-beaten  sea,  swelling  and 
falling  imder  the  lashings  of  a  furious 
storm. 

A  moment's  pause.  Then  the  artless 
girl,  with  a  rare  simplicity,  spoke  from  her 
heart, 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Vernon  !  "  she  cried.  "  For- 
give me,  forgive  me  !  I  did  not  shun  you 
for  any  thing  of  that  sort.  I  am  deeply 
grateful  to  you  ;  I  owe  you  every  thing ! 
I— I— Oh!  I  cannot  tell  you  why— I  can- 
not ! " 

Her  manner  disclosed  every  thing.  Her 
carefully  guarded  tenderness  came  out  so 
plump,  that  he— thick  skulled  fellow  !— he 
even,  was  relieved  of  all  doubt. 

When  she  broke  down,  shrunk  from  his 
glances,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
to  hide  her  blushes  and  tears,  he  gave  way 
to  the  first  impulse,  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  and  placed  her  red,  hot,  tear-stained 
cheeks  against  his  breast,  smoothed  her  feir 
tresses,  whispered  low  spoken  words  in  her 
ears,  and  kissed  the  shame  from  her  face, 
though  two  bright  burning  spots  remained 
in  the  centre  of  her  cheeks,  as  a  foil  for  the 
love-light  that  glittered  in  her  eyes. 

Alice's  long  day-dreams  were  realized  ! 

Roland  put  off  the  old  love  ;  and  put  on 
the  new.     And  he  was  happy ! 

Let  Roland  and  Alice  enjoy  the  delight 
of  their  wortliily  bestowed  love ;  nor  dis- 
turb their  happiness.  The  twilight  stars., 
dancing  merrily  above  their  heads,  as  they 
walked  homewards,  shone  upon  it  appro- 
vingly, and  lent  their  softest  beams  to  en- 
hance  the  enchanted  beauty  with  which 


their  joy-brimming  eyes  invested  the  world 
that  night. 

Be  not  inquisitive  as  to  the  meaning  of 
their  languishing  glances,  mutually  be- 
stowed ;  nor  endeavor  to  eavesdrop  the 
gentle  words  and  mellow  tones  that  thrill- 
ed their  willing  ears  ! 

Enough,  it  is,  to  know,  that  neither  of 
them  would  have  exchanged  Earth  for 
Heaven,  if  the  translation  would  have 
cost  a  separation  of  their  intertwined 
hearts. 

O  Youth  !  O  Love !  0  witching  hour 
of  twilight  1  How  sweet  ye  are,  ye  in- 
spirers  of  earthly  happiness  ! 


CHAPTER  HL 


CORKESrONDENCE 


{From  Mr.  Bolcmd  Vernon  to  R&o.  Jacob 
Adams.) 

RusHBROOK,  May  7,  1860. 
Dear  Sm : 

I  would  be  pleased  to  receive  an  in- 
timation from  Mrs.  Adams,  whether,  in 
the  event  of  my  securing  a  promise  of  the 
hand  of  her  daughter.  Miss  Alice  Reeves,  in 
marriage,  she  will  seal  the  engagement  with 
her  approbation. 

I  am  aware  that  you  entertain  other  than 
kindly  sentiments  towards  me  ;  and,  there- 
fore, I  feel  constrained  to  ask  that,  in  the 
event  that  Mrs.  Adams  refuses  her  sanction, 
she  will  favor  me  with  an  explicit  avowal 
of  the  considerations  which  control  her  de- 
cision. This  will  obviate  unnecessary  de- 
lay, as  it  will  place  mo  in  a  situation  to 
rebut,  and,  perhaps,  overcome  any  un- 
founded prejudices  which  may  be  arrayed 
against  me  to  prevent  the  happiness  to 
which  I  aspire. 

Of  course,  I  should  feel  that  I  was  doing 
violence  to  my  honor,  if  I  were  to  disre- 
gard a  well  considered  and  justly  urged 
obstacle. 

Very  truly,  yours,  etc., 

Roland  Vernon. 

To  Rev.  Jacob  Adams, 

C town,  N.  C. 


38 


DOLORES 


{Reply  ofliev.  Jacob  Adams  to  Mr.  Bcland 
Vernon) 

P^VESONAGE, 

C TO^ra,  N.  C,  May  9,  1860. 


Roland  Vernon,  Esq., 

Kuslibrook. 
Dear  Sik  : 

The  subject-matter  of  jroiir  commu- 
nication, of  the  7th  inst.,  has  been  con- 
sidered by  Mrs.  Adams. 

In  reply,  I  respectfully  submit  that  we 
learn  from  various  sources  that  during  your 
stay  at  the  University,  you  were  free  in 
the  expressions  of  a  rationalism  in  religion, 
which  is  irreconcilable  with  a  faith  in  the 
doctrines  of  Christianity ;  and  that  we  es- 
teem this  fact  to  be  a  sufficient  reason  for 
withholding  our  consent  from  your  future 
intimacy  with  our  daughter. 

It  would  be  too  much  for  us  to  expect 
you  to  sacrifice  your  opinions  respecting 
such  an  important  matter,  when  they  have 
doubtlessly  been  formed  with  due  delibera- 
tion ;  and,  consequently,  we  must  decline 
the  honor  which  it  was  your  purpose  to 
confer  upon  our  family. 

Very  respectfully,  etc., 

Jacob  Adams. 

{From  Mr.  Roland  Vernon  to  Miss  Alice 
Reeves. 

ErSHBROOK, 

Night,  May  9,  1860. 
My  rRECious  Alice  : 

The  note  has  been  sent,  and  the 
answer  has  been  received.  I  enclose 
both. 

I  think  Mr.  Adams'  reply  lacks  frank- 
ness ;  and  I  am  not  disposed  to  regard  his 
refusal.  I  will  take  an  appeal  to  your 
mother's  gratitude  and  to  your  own  trusted 
heart.  You  must  talk  with  your  mother, 
and  ascertain  her  unbiassed  opinion.  If 
she  is  misrepresented  by  him,  of  course  we 
will  not  allow  his  spite  to  interfere  with 
our  happiness.  Will  you  pump  her  at 
once,  and  communicate  the  result  ?  Please 
do,  my  darling ! 

As  respects  my  religious  convictions  you 
need  no  information.  I  have  spoken  with 
you  frankly  on  that  subject.  That  matter 
resolves  itself  into  these  questions :    Can 


j-ou  trust  my  honor?  Will  you  be  satis 
fled  to  have  me  live  out  my  golden  rule, 
without  caring,  so  I  do  my  duty,  what 
jihilosophy  guides  me  to  its  performance  ? 
Have  you  confidence  in  my  love  ? 

Everj'thing  depends,  therefore,  on  your 
mother's  feelings ;  and  on  the  extent  of 
your  trust  in  vie. 

Believe  my  darling  that  I  love,  and  miss 
you  ;  and  that  I  will  wait  impatiently  to 
hear  from  you  whether  I  am  to  be  su- 
premely blest ;  or  to  be  consigned  to  un- 
fathomable and  eternal  misery. 
Fondly, 

ROLAISD. 

Miss  Alice  Ree'ves, 

Parsonage. 

{Reply  of  Miss  Alice  Recces  to  Mr.  Roland 
Vernon.) 

Parsonage,  May  10th,  1860. 
0  dear !  what  atime  I  have  been  having  all 
the  morning  !  You  ought  to  be  a  very 
nice,  well  behaved  fellow,  when  they  are  all 
down  so  hard  on  poor  me,  because  I  lo — 
I  shall  not  tell  you,  sir.  There  now ! 
Don't  ever  talk  about  scolding  to  me  !  I 
think  I  know  the  meaning  of  that  word 
norc  —  but  didn't  I  catch  it  on  all  sides! 
And  to  think  that  mother  should  have 
been  against  you  too.  I'm  right  angry 
with  her.  The  idea  !  after  pretending  to 
think  so  much  of  you ;  and  then  when 
you  wanted  her  friendship,  to  go  to  abus- 
ing you  with  the  rest.  Heigho !  here 
comes  mother  now.  I'll  have  to  finish  this 
in  the  afternoon.  I'll  pump  her  now. 
What  a  word ! 

*        *        *         *         *        * 

Oh,  Roland!  What  do  you  think? 
Mother  has  been  in  here  to  tell  me  a  secret, 
and  it  affects  vs  too.  She  wasn't  so  bad 
after  all ;  biit,  oh !  how  deceitful  every 
body  is  getting !  Don't  be  too  impatient, 
you  dear  old  thing  ;  and  be  at  the  old  Oak 
at  six  exactly ;  and,  maybe,  I'll  tell  you 
something  nice.  I  can't  write  it ;  so  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  have  to  come  and  tell  you. 
But  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Roland 
Vernon  ;  and  I'm  in  earnest  too  —  young 
ladies'  hands  are  not  made  to  be  squeezed 
to  death ! 


doloses. 


39 


Please  forgive  me,  if  I've  said  anything 
to  tease  you  ;  and  accept  a  million  of  ki — 
no,  I  won't  send  tliem  either. 

Alice. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

No  effort  was  made  by  Roland  and  Alice 
to  disarm  the  prejudices  of  Mr.  Adams. 
They  knew  that  such  an  endeavor  would 
prove  fruitless,  and  cost  them  humiliation 
without  securing  a  fit  recompense. 

But  tlie  lovers  continued  their  intimacy. 
The  assignation  of  the  Old  Oak,  appointed 
in  Alice's  somewhat  inexplicit  letter  to  Ro- 
land, discovered  that  Mrs.  Adams  did  not 
concur  with  her  husband's  views  respect- 
ing the  proposed  alliance  ;  and  that,  together 
with  Alice's  assurances  that  she  could  trust 
her  lover,  Infidel  though  he  was,  to  re- 
spect his  obligations  as  a  man,  and  as  a 
husband,  if  it  ever  came  to  that,  fixed  Ro- 
land in  his  determination  not  to  regard  the 
old  minister's  prohibition  of  the  engage- 
ment. 

With,  characteristic  frankness,  Roland 
advised  Alice  to  communicate  her  inten- 
tions to  her  stepfather  by  announcing  that 
she  only  waited  until  the  completion  of 
her  twenty-first  year  to  have  the  ceremony 
of  marriage  celebrated. 

Alice  did  this ;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
signified  her  willingness  to  be  deprived  of 
Vernon's  society  in  the  interval,  if  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Adams  were  disposed  to  demand  this 
sacrifice. 

The  solicitude  of  Mrs.  Adams'  motherly 
love  for  the  daughter's  health  and  happi- 
ness, prevailed  over  the  clergyman's  per- 
versencss  ;  and  this  self  denial  was  not  re- 
quired. 

Yet  Vernon  did  not  visit  his  betrothed  at 
the  Parsonage.  Since  the  day  he  had  en- 
tered that  house  with  Alice  in  his  arms, 
rescued  from  a  horrible  death  by  his  cool- 
ness and  valor,  and  received  such  a  rude 
"welcome  at  the  hands  of  its  master,  his 
foot  never  crossed  the  inhospitable  thresh- 
old. 

But  this  did  not  separate  these  inter- 


blended  hearts.  They  rode  together; 
walked  together  ;  and  were  the  fonder  and 
happier  for  the  slight  barrier  which  kept 
them  from  a  closer  familiarity. 

In  the  course  of  time  a  shadow  fell  across 
their  lives  —  a  dark  menacing  shadow. 

Paul  Adams  began  to  plot.  And,  as  he 
was  a  born  intriguer,  he  inflicted  a  brief 
but  poignant  grief  ujwn  Roland  and  Alice. 

Paul  perceived  that  his  father's  opposi- 
tion placed  no  check  upon  their  happiness  ; 
and  told  him  that  he  was  a  blunderer; 
that  interference  by  parents  only  strength- 
ened and  purified  attachments  easily  un- 
dermined, except  when  nourished  by  the 
food  on  which  martyrs  flourish. 

He  cfl'ered  to  manage  the  business  better ; 
and,  Mr.  Adams  ha\'ing  a  high  opinion  of 
his  son's  talent,  gave  him  the  power  of  at- 
torney to  break  off"  this  detested  match. 

Paul  entered  upon  the  work  with  all  the 
vim  of  enthusiastic  youth.  He  labored  in 
the  cause  con  amove.  He  performed  his 
promise  with  an  untiring  and  prompt  en- 
ergy, and  with  beautiful  adroitness. 

If  Paul  Adams  had  anyother  motive  than 
a  native  predisposition  to  malicious  trickery 
supplied,  it  must  have  been  his  inexorable 
dislike  for  his  competitor  in  the  struggle  for 
professional  distinction. 

His  first  movement  in  the  campaign 
against  the  lovers,  was  a  pretense  of  deep 
sympathy.  He  simulated  this  feeling  with 
such  admirable  tact  that  Vernon  was  com- 
pletely blinded  as  to  his  real  sentiments. 

His  next  stroke  —  a  mixture  of  cold- 
blooded villainy  and  sublime  audacity — 
told  heavily. 

He  dropped  into  Vernon's  ofiice  one  day, 
after  his  scheme  was  carefully  matured ; 
and  entered  into  familiar  and  pleasant  con- 
versation with  his  intended  victim. 

"  I  hope  you  feel  buoyant  in  these  dull 
times,"  he  said.  "  This  summer  weather 
enervates  one  wofully,  and  then  business  is 
always  so  stagnant  during  the  heated  sea- 
son." 

"  Yes,"  cheerfully  responded  Vernon. 
"  But  then  you  don't  seem  to  mind  it,  and 
ought  not.  You  always  seem  to  have 
enough  to  keep  you  busy  !  Surely,  you 
don't  suffer  from  ennui !  " 

"  Very  seldom  !  But  sometimes  I  do,  I 
confess  ;  and,  you  know,  I  have  to  rely  oa 


4:0 


DOLORES, 


my  work  mainly  for  my  pastime.  I'm  not 
so  fortunate  as  to  enjoy  tlie  recourse  you 
have — I  don't  take  with  the  ladies.  I  envj^ 
you,  Vernon !  you  seem  to  be  quite  a  fa- 
vorite ! " 

"  No  blarney,  Adams  !  "  remonstrated 
Roland,  flushing  like  a  young  girl. 

"  Apropos,"  remarked  Adams,  suddenly, 
as  if  he  j  ust  recollected  a  piece  of  informa- 
tion. "  Alice  is  quite  unwell.  I  fear  she 
will  be  confined  to  tlie  house  for  several 
days.  I  presume,  however,  that  she  will 
acquaint  you  of  her  convalescence,  prompt- 
ly, so  that  those  drives  and  walks  will  not 
be  disturbed  any  longer  than  is  positively 
necessary." 

Stopping  to  give  Roland  a  nudge,  and  to 
take  a  hearty  laugh,  he  proceeded  : 

"  Hadn't  you  better  call  at  the  Parsonage 
as  you  pass  ?  Perhaps  AUie  may  be  well 
enough  to  receive  you !  Pshaw !  Don't 
shake  your  head.  "Why  do  you  mind  fa- 
ther's crotchets — he'll  come  round  all  right 
yet!" 

"When  Paxil  told  Roland  of  Alice's  sick- 
ness, the  devoted  young  lover  was  very 
much  distressed  ;  and  this  distress  made  its 
sign  on  his  face. 

Adams  saw  that  he  had  said  quite  enough 
to  serve  his  purpose,  and  immediately  took 
his  departure. 

The  fellow  chuckled  when  he  got  out  of 
sight.     He  felt  confident  of  success. 

Vernon  did  not  call  that  afternoon  to  take 
his  customary  walk  with  Alice.  Nor  the 
next ;  nor  the  next ;  nor  the  next ;  nor  for 
several  days.  Adams  called  every  morning 
and  regretted  that  Alice  was  still  very  un- 
well. 

Then  luck  gave  the  schemer  another 
lift.  Mrs.  Vernon  wanted  to  do  some  shop- 
ping in  town,  and  rode  in  from  Rushbrook 
with  Roland.  He  had  nothing  else  to  do, 
so  he  accompanied  her  from  store  to  store. 
Adams  saw  them,  and  his  quick  mind  seized 
on  this  circumstance.  He  rubbed  his  hands 
with  great  glee  ;  and  that  evening  he  went 
home  pregnant  with  a  purpose,  feeling 
surer  than  ever  of  triumph. 

AJice  was  sitting  on  the  piazza  sewing. 
She  had  been  making  preparations  for  the 
celebration  of  the  National  Anniversary, 
the  approaching  week  ;  for  there  was  to  be 
a  grand  ball  at  night,  and  Paul  was  to  de- 


liver the  oration  in  the  forenoon.  Con- 
sequently, although  she  had  missed  her 
walks  with  Roland,  and  had  wondered  why 
he  kept  away,  she  had  been  too  busy  to  fret 
about  his  remissness. 

"When  Paul  joined  her,  she  was  thinking 
of  Roland,  and  wondering  whether  he  was 
sick.  There  was  a  slight  shade  of  disap- 
pointment on  ber  face ;  for  she  had  fully 
expected  that  Roland  would  come  for  her 
that  afternoon,  and  he  had  failed. 

She  started  with  surprise,  therefore,  when 
Paul  inquired,  with  a  well  assumed  air  of 
nonchalance, 

"  Sis.,  who  is  that  lady  Roland  Vernon 
has  been  promenading  the  streets  with  all 
day  ?     She  is  certainly  very  handsome !  " 

At  first  she  was  astotmded ;  then  attri- 
buting Roland's  failures  to  call  for  her  to 
this  lady  that  Paul  asked  about,  she  waxed 
indignant ;  then  she  tossed  her  head  with  a 
lofty  disdain,  while  a  gleam  of  jealousy 
shot  from  her  eyes,  and  replied, 

"  Pm  sure  I  cannot  imagine  !  What  does 
she  look  like  ?  What  sort  of  dress  and  bon- 
net did  she  wear  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know  !  But  she  was  very 
pretty.  I  dec'are  he's  a  fortunate  fellow — 
all  the  lov^-ly  women  fall  in  love  with 
him  ! " 

"  Oh  !  They  do  ?  That's  a  compliment 
for  me,  I  suppose  !  " 

Saying  this,  she  sprang  up  and  ran  into 
the  house,  and,  rushing  up  stairs  to  her 
room,  entered  and  locked  the  door,  and 
cried. 

Paul  whistled  "  Old  Dan  Tucker  "  vigor- 
ously ;  and  patiently  waited  for  his  plot  to 
work  out  its  results. 

For  two  or  three  days  more  Roland  did 
not  go  for  Alice  ;  and,  her  jealousy  aroused, 
she  became  wrathfully  bitter  against  him 
in  her  thoughts. 

The  afternoon  of  the  3d  of  July,  Adams 
dropped  in  on  Vernon  and  casually  re- 
marked that  Alice  was  better  and  would 
probably  be  out  the  next  day,  and  would 
certainly  attend  the  ball.  He  did  this  to 
prevent  detection. 

Roland  immediately  Avrote  her  a  note 
and  informed  her  that  he  would  provide 
her  an  escort  for  the  ball,  as  he  could  not 
come  for  her  himself ;  and  that  he  was  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  meeting  her  on 


DOLORES. 


41 


the  morrow.  He  anticipated  no  reply  and 
got  none. 

All  that  night  and  all  next  day  — for 
Alice  did  not  go  to  hear  the  oration — he 
looked  forward  with  pleasant  anticipations 
to  the  ball.  She  wonld  be  there.  He  would 
see  her.  He  would  tell  her  how  deeply  he 
had  sympathized  with  her  during  her  ill- 
ness. He  would  show  her  the  depth  of  his 
devoted  love.  They  would  be  the  happiest 
of  mortals. 

Ah  !  would  they  ? 

Her  jealousy  was  wide  awake  ;  and  she 
sat,  "  nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm," 
waiting  to  sting  him  with  her  disdain — 
sat,  in  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  ball-room, 
wliere  he  would  be  certain  to  see  her  as 
soon  as  he  entered,  crouching  to  make  a 
spring.     The  little  tigress  ! 

The  lights  gleamed  brightly.  Beauty 
shone.  Eyes  sparkled.  Tongues  rattled. 
A  flash  of  wit,  now  and  then,  set  a  coterie 
in  a  roar.  A  handsomely  turned  compli- 
ment made  lovely  cheeks  blush  scarlet. 
Exquisites  flourished.  Coquettes  were  in 
their  glory  ;  but  patted  their  little  feet  im- 
patiently, waiting  for  the  dancing  to  com- 
mence. Laughter  and  small  talk  were  at  a 
premium. 

Roland  Vernon  entered  with  a  lady  on 
his  arm.  Alice  looked  up,  and,  seeing  who 
it  was,  smiled  her  a  look  of  greeting.  Ev- 
idently she  had  expected  him  to  bring  some 
one  else.  But  her  jealousy  was  not  yet  ex- 
orcised. And  she  waited  for  her  opportuni- 
ty— waited  not  quite  so  savagely.  But  she 
Mas  a  little  tigress  still ! 

Roland  soon  came  up  to  her,  all  ra^jtures 
and  smiles.  She  did  not  observe  his  ap- 
proach— so  she  pretended.  He  spoke  to 
her.  She  did  not  hear  his  salutation — so 
she  feigned.     He  was  puzzled. 

But  true  love  is  not  easily  put  off! 

He  persisted  in  his  efforts  to  attract  her 
attention — and  succeeded. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Vernon  !     What  an  honor  ! " 

Roland  was  stumped.  AVhat  did  ic  mean  ? 
Why  was  Alice  so  freezingly  cold  ? 

"  i'U  find  out !  " 

And,  having  formed  this  resolution,  he 
did  not  waste  any  time,  but  stood  watching 
his  chance  for  a  private  word. 

It  was  a  fight  between  jealousy  and  inno- 


cent true  love — both  armed  cap-a-pie,  and 
plucky. 

A  crusty  old  maid  would  have  delighted 
to  watch  its  progress.  He  bent  on  com- 
manding her  ear.  She  equally  bent  on  re- 
fusing to  listen. 

But  in  the  end  innocent  true  love  won 
the  victory.  It  was  like  the  victories  of 
many  great  conquerors — empty,  without 
fruits,  and  horrible  for  the  victor. 

"  Alice,  my  precious  Alice !  "  he  whis- 
pered. "  What  is  the  matter  ?  Do  you 
feel  unwell,  darling,  or — are  you  angry 
with  me  ?  What  have  I  done  to  merit  this 
coldness  ?  " 

The  little  tigress  crouched  loiv  ;  fixed  a 
wild  eye,  full  of  menace,  on  his  face ;  and 
made  a  spring. 

"  Oh !  you  are  so  condescending,  Mr. 
Vernon  !  I  thought  you  had  found  so  much 
delight  in  the  society  of  other  ladies,  re- 
cently, that  you  had  forgotten  my  existence 
entirely.  I  am  so  i^leased  to  see  that  you 
still  remember  me !  But,  as  I  fear  my  poor 
attractions  are  not  sufficiently  fascinating 
to  claim  your  homage,  I  will  not  detain 
you  from  the  enjoyment  of  conversation 
with  others,  who,  I  am  sure,  "will  prove 
more  entertaining." 

She  nodded  her  dismissal. 

Cut  to  tlie  quick  by  her  manner  and  her 
words,  Roland,  with  a  look  of  contempt, 
hastily  retired — TO  CURSE  all  woman- 
kind ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

For  a  few  minutes  Roland  leaned  heavi- 
ly against  one  of  the  row  of  great  festooned 
pillars  running  across  the  dancing  hall,  and 
gazed  vacantly  on  the  joyous  scene. 

Then,  as  if  oppressed  by  the  proximity 
of  Alice,  he  turned  and  passed  through  the 
fashionable  crowd  which  had  assembled 
from  all  the  neighboring  country,  nodding 
pleasantly  to  the  right  and  left  as  he  recog- 
nized his  acquaintances  in  the  midst  of  the 
dense  throng. 

He  stopped  here  to  exchange  a  laughing 
word    with    this    bright-eyed    brunette ; 


42 


DOLORES. 


paused  there  to  compliment  tliat  slirinking 
blonde,  wliose  foce  reddened  at  his  hand- 
somely uttered  praises  and  whose  melting 
glances  grew  tender  and  drooped  when  they 
encountered  his  admiring  gaze.  But  he 
wearied  of  sustaining  so  difficult  a  part — 
be  sighed  to  escape  all  the  allurements  that 
were  being  used  to  detain  him.  His  heart 
was  not  engaged  in  the  pleasures  which 
they  were  enjoying.  His  soul  was  faint ; 
and,  siclvt:ned  with  their  mirth,  be  moved 
on  mechanically. 

Thirsting  for  the  fresh  air,  longing  for 
solitude  in  the  quiet  moonlight,  where  he 
could  think  unwatched,  and  undisturbed 
by  the  crazing  din  of  the  revel,  he  pressed 
bis  way  through  mazes  of  crinoline  to  the 
open  door. 

He  made  a  bolt,  and  ran  against  a  couple 
entering  at  that  moment. 

The  glare  of  the  chandeliers  flashed  in 
their  faces  ;  and  there  was  a  mutual  recog- 
nition. 

The  lady  whom  he  escorted  to  the  ball, 
hung  on  the  arm  of  Roland's  friend,  Jock 
Wright. 

"  0  you  truant !  "  she  cried.  "  Wliere 
have  you  been  hiding  ?  Grew  tired  of  me 
in  exactly  ten  minutes !  Very  well,  sir,  111 
know  the  next  time  you  send  me  a  properly 
expressed  hillct,  written  on  the  most  im- 
maculate gilt-edge,  that  '  the  pleasure  of 
being  commanded  '  means  that  my  com- 
mand is  to  be  exercised  ten  minutes  only — 
ten  by  the  watch  !  " 

"  Now,  Miss  Belle,"  he  answered  with  a 
smile,  "  don't  j-ou  know  that  you  have  been 
listening  to  Jock's  love-making  with  a  thou- 
sand-fold more  relish  than  you  would  have 
enjoyed  my  dull  chattering  ?  Bravo!  bj-a- 
vo !  both  of  you  are  blushing !  Did  she 
miake  you  inexpressibly  happy,  Wright  ?  " 

"  Come,  sir  !  You  can't  escape  by  a  re- 
sort to  badinage.  I've  fairly  captured  you, 
disengaged,  not  a  lady  in  the  house  ha\-ing 
a  previous  claim  ;  and  you  shall  dance  with 
me  the  nest  cotillion." 

"  But,  what's  poor  Jock  to  do  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  him  !  Come,  they  are 
about  to  commence  the  dance !  " 

Music's  "  voluptuous  swell "  wooed  them 
to  "  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying 
feet."     And  they  chased  ! 

The  sweet  strains  ceased ;  the  nimble 


dancers  took  their  seats  Jock  Wright 
hurried  to  Miss  Belle  Woodruff 's  side  ;  and 
Roland  made  his  exit.  This  time  he  got 
out  into  the  yard,  and  fled  from  the  crash- 
ing noise  of  the  music  and  the  tramping  of 
the  dancers.  But  his  brain  whirled  ;  and 
the  control  over  his  feelings  which  his  pride 
had  enabled  him  to  assert,  gave  way.  Hs 
thought,  now,  of  nothing  but  his  spurned 
love. 

Once  in  the  yard  he  left  the  paths  that 
meandered  through  the  shrubbery  in  front 
of  the  College  building,  in  which  the  fes- 
tivities were  being  celebrated,  and  advanced 
to  the  centre  of  one  of  the  flower-bounded 
squares.  Here  he  flung  himself  upon  the 
ground  and  gave  utterance  to  a  deep  groan 
of  agony.  The  spangled  canopy,  as  far  as 
it  could  be  seen,  resting  its  edges  on  the 
dark  horizon,  glimmered  with  bright  twink- 
ling stars.  But  their  resplendence  did  not 
allure  his  gaze.  He  went  not  to  watch  ; 
but  to  think.  And,  pondering,  he  brooded 
until  he  grew  desperate  in  the  attempt  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  Alice's  demeanor,  so 
changed,  so  terrible,  so  fatal  to  his  hopes  of 
bliss. 

What  had  he  done  1  Nothing,  literally, 
nothing  !  She  had  flagrantly  insidted 
him,  she  had  insolently  driven  him  from 
her  side. 

Cavalier  Haughtiness  drew  the  strong 
sword  of  Indifference ;  and  resolved  to 
wield  it  relentlessly  ! 

"  Why  Vernon,  is  this  you  ?  What  are 
you  doing  ?  Surely,  you  hav'n't  been  floor- 
ed too — you,  certainly,  have  not  been  made 
the  victim  of  a  woman's  caprice,  as  I  have 
been  ?    No  such  bad  luck  for  you,  I  hope !  " 

"  What  are  you  raving  about,  Wright  ? 
How  in  the  devil  did  you  find  me  ?  " 

Roland  spoke  angrily.  He  thought  Jock 
Wright's  intrusion  was  induced  by  a 
knowledge  of  his  discomfiture  ;  and  that 
he  was  there  to  sport  Avith  his  unhappi- 
ness. 

"  Damn  it,  man,  hasn't  a  fellow  a  right 
to  rave  when  he's  been  politely  but  firmly 
rejected  by  the  handsomest  woman  in 
Carolina  ?  As  for  finding  you,  I  stumbled 
on  you — I  CAME  out  heke  to  think  !" 

"  What !  Has  Belle  refused  you,  in 
fact?" 

"  Nothing  less ! " 


DOLORES. 


43 


"Why?" 

"  I  don't  know  !  She  says  she's  not  en- 
gaged, but  that  her  affections  are.  I'll  bet 
a  hundred  dollars  she's  in  love  -with  you. 
With  all  your  intolerable  pride  and  abrupt- 
ness, there's  something  in  you  that  wins  all 
the  Avomen's  hearts." 

"  For  a  moment — once  in  your  life — 
please  be  serious.  I'm  in  no  mood  for  non- 
sense !  " 

"  But,  Vernon,  I  was  never  more  earnest 
in  my  life.    I'm  floored,  that's  certain  !  " 

"  And  so  am  I, — worse  than  floored  !  " 

Roland  and  Jock  exchanged  confidences  ; 
and  a  comparison  of  notes  convinced  each 
that  the  other  was  a  much  wronged  man. 

"Well,"  said  Jock.  "Don't  let's  allow 
either  of  the  wretches  to  think  that  we 
care.  I'm  for  returning  to  the  ballroom, 
and  getting  vengeance  out  of  some  other 
girl.     WiU  you  go  ?  " 

"  Not  now  !  "  And  then,  reconsidering, 
"  Yes,  by  Jupiter,  I'll  join  you.  Go 
ahead ! " 

In  the  ball-room,  and  surrounded  by  a 
throng  of  admirers,  Belle  Woodrufl'  was 
reigning  without  a  rival.  Roland  Vernon 
edged  himself  into  a  position  near  her,  and 
soon,  with  a  strange  light  in  his  eye,  and 
with  a  wild  laugh  that  echoed  loudly 
through  the  wide  hall,  he  paid  his  homage, 
his  voice  rising  above  the  din  of  other 
tongues  as  he  excelled  them  all  in  creating 
mirth  and  gayety.  This  light  demeanor  he 
continued  to  manifest  throughout  the  eve- 
ning, giving  no  external  exhibition  of  the 
unrest  and  suffering  that  raged  in  his 
bosom,  except  in  the  unnatural  exhilara- 
tion of  his  manner.  But  his  heart  was 
torn  with  anguish,  crushed,  and  bleeding  ; 
and  a  fever  of  delirium  coursed  with  his 
excited  blood.  He  could  disguise,  but  he 
could  not  forget  his  maddening  grief;  and, 
better,  he  could  make  Alice  share  his  sor- 
row, although  he  did  not  know  how  deeply 
she  deplored  the  words  that  had  banished 
him  from  her  side. 

As  Alice  watched  Mm,  suffering  tortures 
of  Jealousy,  her  heart  grew  sick  at  the 
sight  of  his  tempestuous  hilarity.  She 
knew  tliat  it  was  assumed ;  but  she 
thought  it  was  assumed  to  punish  her. 

And  so  these  true  lovers,  separated  by  a 
cruel  scheme,  the  victims  of  a  plotter's 


wiles,  made  themselves  miserably  wretclied. 

0  Love !      Thou    tormentor ;    thou   bene- 
factor ! 

At  last  the  dancing  was  over.  The  ban- 
quet hall  was  deserted.  The  ladies  bud- 
died  into  the  dressing-rooms  for  their  wrap- 
pings. The  gentlemen  crowded  in  the  pas- 
sages, waiting  for  the  fair  ones  to  start 
home. 

"Go  it,  Roland!  The  field  is  clear!" 
Jock  Wright  confidentially  whispered  in 
Vernon's  ear,  as  he  waited  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Ids  friend 
with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  Mean  !  Why,  I  mean  that  Belle  Wood- 
ruff is  in  love  with  you,  and  tliat  you  should 
take  advantage  of  her  humor.  There's 
nothing  like  a  new  love,  or  even  a  flirtation, 
to  heal  a  lacerated  heart !  " 

Amused  at  Wright's  earnestness,  Roland 
laughed  in  his  face. 

"  It's  so  !  "  Jock  protested.     "  You  know 

1  am  not  made  of  the  sort  of  stuff  that 
pines.  Well,  when  Belle  Woodruff  re- 
fused me,  to  get  over  the  embarrassment 
gracefully,  I  said,  with  the  straightest  face 
you  ever  saw — '  Miss  Belle,  if  you  are  right 
certain  you  can't  love  me,  and  if  you  posi- 
tively refuse  to  let  me  love  you,  I  suppose 
I  may  as  well  fulfill  my  promise  to  Roland 
Vernon.'  Then  she  flushed  up  and  asked 
me—'  And  what  was  that  ? '  '  Oh ! '  said  I, 
'  he's  a  shame-faced  fellow,  and  is  too  bash- 
ful to  speak  for  bimself.  He  told  me  to  ask 
you  if  he  mayn't  love  you,  just  a  little  !  '  I 
expected  her  to  laugh,  of  course ;  and 
thought  I'd  effect  a  brilliant  escape  under 
the  cover  of  her  merriment ;  but,  sir,  if  you 
believe  me,  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she 
blushed  to  tbe  eyebrows,  and  looked  as 
serious  as  a  Quaker  girl  at  meeting.  It's 
so  !  I'll  wager  my  life  that  you've  touched 
her  heart — that  is,  if  she's  got  any !  I'd 
advise  you  to  dash  ahead.     She's " 

" Mr.  Vernon  !     Ah  !     I'm  ready !  " 


There  stood  the  young  lady  herself,  equipped 
for  the  ride  home.  She  appeared  on  the  scene 
just  in  time  to  leave  her  quondam  lover  in 
perplexity  as  to  whether  she  had  over- 
heard his  remarks,  or  not.  But  he  was  not 
annoyed  long.     What  if  she  had  ? 

Jock  Wright  was  not  the  man  to  allow 
small  matters  to  worry  him.    If  he  had 


44 


DOLORES, 


been,  lie  vroiild  have  died,  a  year  before, 
from  the  effect  of  about  twenty  mittens 
wliicli  this  same  young  lady  had  consider- 
ately given  him. 

Oh,  no  !  He  wasn't  made  of  that  sort  of 
stuff! 

A  brimming  cup  to  you,  and  the  like  o' 
you,  Jock  Wright !  A  health !  A  thou- 
sand healths. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

Drittxg  along  at  a  rapid  pace,  with 
Belle  Woodruff  seated  by  him,  thinking  of 
what  gleeful  Jock  Wright  had  said,  be- 
fore he  got  to  The  Meadows,  Roland  Ver- 
non was  well  nigh  convinced  of  the  correct- 
ness of  the  surmises  of  his  friend. 

Roland  was  not  overwhelmingly  vain  ; 
but  he  had  not  failed  to  perceive,  or  to 
think  that  he  had  perceived,  that  Belle, 
who  was  so  frivolous  with  others,  so  irre- 
pressible in  her  humor,  so  reckless  in  her 
gayety,  invariably  assumed  a  moderation 
and  depth  of  feeling  in  her  conversation 
with  him  when  they  were  thrown  together 
alone,  that  he  could  not  account  for,  ex- 
cept by  flattering  his  own  self-love  with 
the  thought  that  he  had  the  power  to 
evoke  the  earnestness  and  soul  which  was 
generally  wanting  in  her  intercourse  with 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

In  society  her  raillery  was  levelled  at  him 
mercilessly  ;  and  her  demeanor  as  unre- 
strained by  emotion  as  with  any  other 
gentleman  who  was  on  the  same  footing 
of  social  intimacy. 

When  the  world  looked  not  upon  her, 
however,  and  she  communed  with  him, 
unrestrained  by  that  artificial  strength 
which  panoplies  a  woman  when  .she  feels 
that  she  is  watched  by  the  argus  eyed 
Coterie  of  which  she  is  a  member,  all  the 
tenderness  of  her  spoilt  nature,  bursting 
the  bonds  of  formality,  shone  in  her  looks, 
and  mellowed  her  wortls. 

But,  while  Roland  Vernon  thought  thus, 
he  did  not  act  upon  Jock's  suggestion.  He 
hoped  that  Alice  would  hasten  to  remove 
the  barrier  to  their  happiness  ;  and  his  af- 


fection was  too  deeply  rooted  to  be  extir- 
pated by  a  single  stroke  of  unkindncss  ; 
his  passion  was  not  so  ephemeral  that  it 
would  die  out  entirely  in  a  single  night. 

His  nature  however,  was  an  elastic  and 
nervous  one  ;  much  of  the  sort  that  easily 
recovers  from  a  heart  blow,  and,  perhaps, 
"  new  love,  or  even  a  flirtation  "  woidd  have 
healed  his  "  lacerated  heart."  Yet  he  was 
not  quite  sure  that  it  was  necessary  to  resort 
to  so  desperate  a  remedy  as  the  putting  of 
his  peace  at  the  mercy  of  this  Sliss  Incorri- 
gibility, by  whose  side  he  was  riding  slowly 
in  the  dawning.  Besides,  daybreak  is  not 
a  propitious  hour  for  a  new  love's  birth. 

And  so  Roland  p.arted  with  Belle  at  the 
front  door  of  The  Meadows  mansion,  hav- 
ing stepped  on  her  dress  three  times  in  his 
walk  from  the  gate  to  the  house,  and 
caught  an  indignant  glance  of  a  bold  black 
eye  for  each  transgression. 

Can  some  gentleman  reader  explain  why 
it  is  that  party-dresses  are  invariably 
trampled  upon  by  their  sex  ? 

An  over-curious  little  lady  asks  the  Ed- 
itor to  inquire !     And  he  obeys  ! 

'•'  The  maiden  splendor  of  the  morning 
star  shook  in  the  steadfast  blue  "  as  Roland 
Vernon  made  his  way  towards  Rushbrook ; 
and,  as  he  was  not  out  of  bed  at  the  hour  eti- 
quette appoints  for  morning  calls,  he  did 
not  make  his  obeisance  to  the  beauty  of 
The  Meadows  the  next  day,  to  inquire  if 
her  dissipation  had  resulted  deleteriously. 
This  was  very  well  :  for  the  beauty  of  The 
Meadows  was,  herself,  asleep  at  that  fashion- 
able hour. 

Dancing,  in  July,  is  exhausting  ! 

Although  Belle  knew  that  Roland  Ver- 
had  been  in  love  with  a  Northern  girl  at 

the  time  of  his  settlement  in  C town 

to  commence  the  pursuit  of  his  profession, 
from  having  heard  Mrs.  Vernon  teasing  her 
son  about  his  Vermont  sweet-heart,  she  was 
induced  to  believe  that  he  was  fancy  free 
and  a  legitimate  subject  for  her  powers  of 
conquest. 

In  childhood,  a  frequent  visitor  at  Rush- 
brook,  Roland's  playmate,  and  when  she 
grew  older  his  boyhood's  sweetheart.  Belle 
had  always  cherished  a  secret  fondness  for 
him,  and  acknowledged  to  herself,  when 
she  searched  her  heart  to  learn  its  secrets, 
that   she  would  be  happier  if  she  could 


DOLORES 


45 


arouse  in  his  bosom  a  sentiment  akin 
to  that  which  time  had  strengthened  in 
her's  since  her  emergence  into  womanhood. 
Belle  v/as  not  a  gossip ;  and  had  little 
tolerance  for  those  of  her  sex  who  move  and 
live,  and  have  their  being  in  an  atmosphere 
of  scandal.  Since  the  opening  of  spring  she 
had  not  been  to  the  village,  and  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  rumors  of  Roland's  devotion  to 
Alice  Reeves. 

Belle  was  lovely,  sprightly,  intelligent 
and  wealthy— a  fit  lady  for  a  prince— and 
she  was  aware  of  her  eligibility  to  be  the 
wife  of  any  man  in  Carolina.  The  one  ob- 
jection to  her— General  Woodruff's  habits 
of  intemperance— could  easily  be  overcome 
even  by  the  most  fastidious  suitor.  Because, 
even  when  the  General  drank  to  excess,  he 
never  forgot  what  was  due  to  the  family  of 
which  he  was  the  representative  and  head. 
Knowing  the  value  of  her  own  personal 
and  social  attractions,  it  is  not  to  her  dis- 
credit that  she  aspired  to  become  the  wife 
of  her  old  playmate,  Roland  Vernon,  al- 
though he  was  the  handsomest,  wealthiest, 
and,  perhaps,  the  most  talented  young  gen- 
tleman on  the  Cape  Fear. 

To  encourage  this  aspiratioa  she  had  one 
or  two  cheering  facts  in  her  possession.  Ver- 
non's friends  were  persuading  him  to  marry. 
Vernon,  himself,  had  always  been  attentive, 
intimate,  and  fond  of  her.  Vernon  had  ex- 
pressed his  purjwse  to  gratify  the  wishes  of 
his  parents  by  marrying  in  the  next  twelve 
months.  And,  so  encouraged,  she  put  forth 
her  utmost  charms  in  the  effort  to  latcinate 
him  and  evoke  a  declaration  to  which  she 
had,  for  years,  confidently  looked  forward. 

But  for  this  vanity  or  presentiment,  per- 
haps, she  would  have  given  her  hand  to 
frank  Jock  Wright,  who  was  unfortunately 
so  clever,  so  entertaining,  so  po])uliir  with 
all  the  ladies,  that  he  could  not  find  one, 
although  he  tried  many,  who  was  heartless 
enough  to  rob  her  very  dear  friends  of  the 
delight  which  the  glorious  fellow's  gallantry 
gave  the  entire  sex. 

But,  with  the  prospect  of  a  proposal  from 
Vernon,  she  could  not  think  of  taking  Jock. 
And  in  this  mind,  were  Roland  and  Belle 
dm-ing  the  month  of  July,  1860. 

August  brought  a  slight  change,  Vernon's 
love  for  Alice  Reeves  having  moderated, 
and  Belle's  charms  having  made  a  good 


impression.     She  grew  confident  of  winning 
the  stake. 

September  came  and  nearly  passed,  and 
then  the  sparring  was  at  an  end.  Belle  saw 
at  her  feet  a  suppliant  one !  Roland  looked 
up  into  eyes  that  spake  love  again  1 

Man's  heart  is  a  curiously   constructed 
thing  1    Once  fill  it,  whether  with  an  image, 
or  a  passion,  or  even  a  memory,  and  ever 
afterwards,  like  Nature,  it  abhors  a  vacu- 
um !     If  we  love,  and  our  idol  is  torn  from 
us,  we  are  at  once  possessed  with  a  longing 
for  a  substitute,  and  are  dissatisfied  and  dis- 
contented until  we  have  a  new  love,  or  a 
new  idol,  or  until  the  memory  of  the  old 
supplies  its  place.     While,  all  things  being 
equal,  we  prefer  our  first  love,  our  first  idol ; 
if  they  cannot  be  enjoyed,  we  catch  at  the 
next  that  offers  right  fairly,  investing  it,  pres- 
ently at  least,  with  the  same  romantic  inter- 
est and  lavishing  upon  it  the  same  wealth  of 
tenderness  and  devotion.  The  higher  strung 
the  more  sensitive  the  nervous  system,  and 
the  more  poetic  and  ethereal  the  nature  of 
a  man  is,  the  more  unstable,  though  strong, 
the  more  evanescent  though  deep  and  con- 
centrated will  be  his  affections  ;   and   the 
easier  will  it  be  for  him  to  replace,  with 
new  images,  the  recollections  of  old  yearn- 
ings and  the  regrets  in  which  their  mem- 
ories are  embalmed.     But,  then,  these  are 
quite  as  apt  to  become  the  subsequent  vic- 
tims of  the  banished ! 

Reading  humanity  by  the  type  which  has 
been  chosen — the  type  presented  in  Roland 
Vernon's  character — this  moral  has  been 
found.  Perhaps  it  will  not  be  sustained 
upon  a  universal  application. 

At  any  rate,  such  was  the  case  with  Ro- 
land. The  second  time  his  soul  cried  out 
for  woman's  sympathy  to  satisfy  a  craving 
occasioned  by  woman's  slights.  The  second 
time  he  abandoned  an  old  love  and  found  a 
new.  Fickle  Roland !  the  ladies  will  cry. 
Sensible  Roland !  positively  asserts  the  Ed- 
itor. 

Early  in  October  they  plighted  their 
words  ;  the  houses  of  Vernon  and  Woodruff 
were  to  be  united  in  the  spring.  And  there 
was  rejoicing  at  Rushbrook,  and  there  was 
happiness  at  The  Meadows ! 

But,  as  ever,  alas  !  Felicity  cost  Woe  ! 
Joy  reigned  under  one  roof-tree  and  cheered 
with  her  voice  and  smile  :   Sorrow  crouched 


40 


DOLORES. 


liy  anotluT  hrnrtlistone,  woqiiiig  and  chill- 
ing with  her  bliiuliiig  tears ! 

Alas !  why  does  not  the  food  of  Content- 
ment droii  from  the  heavens  in  abundant 
showers  so  that  all  Creation  may  once 
feast  together  and  join  in  the  sweet  concord 
of  a  gleeful  thanksgiving  ? 

Mhilc  Belle  "\\'oodruff  rejoiced,  Alice 
Reeves  sorrowed!  While  Belle  revelled 
in  rosy  dreams,  Alice  was  sleepless  and 
Agony  tore  her  miserable  heart ! 

Alas  I  this  is  the  way  of  Fate ! 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

Paxtse  here ! 

Revert,  for  a  moment,  to  the  distressed 
girl,  who,  waking  too  late  to  an  apprecia- 
tion of  her  folly,  saw  the  sweet  hopes  that 
cltistercd  around  her  bright  reveries,  sud- 
denly dispelled. 

Dolores  Vaughn  jxiid  a  severe  penalty 
for  indulging  an  idle  caprice.  Instead  of 
rejoicing  over  the  realization  of  a  fondly 
fostered  anticipation  of  reciprocated  Love, 
she  was  doomed  to  wrestle  with  a  crushing 
disappointment. 

Returning  home  from  Mount  Antony, 
she  sought  her  chamber,  and  in  its  solitude 
wept  bitter,  bitter  tears,  reproaching  her- 
self in  this  moment  of  abandonment  to 
grief,  with  the  confession  that  she  had 
merited  the  loss  of  that  affection  with  which 
she  had  so  inexcusably  trifled. 

But  women  are  hopeful ;  and  Dolores 
clung  with  a  steadfast  tenacity  to  the  cheer- 
ing conviction  that  Roland  would  discover 
hif  mistake  and  come  to  her  once  more, 
offering  the  coveted  treasure  whose  loss  she 
deplored.  Yet,  she  was  nevertheless  har- 
asf,ed  with  the  fear  that  he  would  depart 
without  seeking  another  interview,  even 
while  flattering  herseK  with  the  belief  that 
he  was  not  wholly  lost. 

The  hours  passed  and  the  time  for  re- 
tiring came,  yet  she  did  not  realize  her  ex- 
pectation. Roland  had  not  sought  her  to 
say.  Farewell. 

The  next  day  she  heard  that  he  was 
gone  ;  and   then  her  heart  gave  a  great 


throb,  and  the  blinding  tears  came  to  her 
eyes,  and  she  sorrowed  as  one  without 
hope. 

Conscience  reproached  her ;  but,  alas ! 
these  reproaches  came  too  late  to  Fave  her 
from  the  error  that  cost  her  the  misery 
which  caused  her  grief !  Time  passed  away 
slowly,  at  first ;  but,  at  length,  after  the 
earth  had  made  many  revolutions,  brighter 
days  followed  serener  nights,  and  Resigna- 
tion gave  Patience,  Fortitude  and  Peace. 

But  Roland  Vernon's  image  was  not  ef- 
faced from  the  tablet  of  her  memory  ! 

Soon  it  was  Winter :  The  exciting  Win- 
ter of  ISGO-'Gl.  The  people  of  the  United 
States  were  filled  with  apprehensions  by 
the  rumblings  of  that  Revolution,  which, 
fostered  and  augmented  in  its  fierceness  by 
vexations  and  bitter  animosities  long  ger- 
minating but  latent— was  to  culminate  in 
April  in  tlie  terrific  contest  which  sundered 
a  nation  and  introduced  with  a  thirst  for 
bloodshed  and  a  taste  for  carnage,  the  vilest 
passions  of  Humanity — Shermanic  violence 
of  pseudo-patriotisrn,  agrarianism,  license, 
and  savagery ;  but  which  also  evoked  de- 
voted zeal  and  heroic  self-abnegation. 

The  prediction  of  the  Abolitionist,  Car- 
son, which  had  provoked  Roland's  defiance 
months  before,  was  about  to  have  the  ful- 
fillment of  realized  prophecy. 

In  the  Southern  States,  a  maddened  pop- 
ulace was  driving  incendiarism  wrathfully 
back  to  its  home  north  of  the  Potomac  ;  in 
the  Northern  States  excited  mobs  were 
hunting  down  obnoxious  citizens  and  using 
the  moral  suasion  of  Menace  to  educate 
slow  minds  to  that  acme  of  progressive 
Republicanism  which  has  recently  suc- 
ceeded in  supplanting  Conservatism  and 
law-abiding  Loyalty  with  Popular  Despo- 
tism and  other  fruits  of  fanatical  Party 
Spirit. 

The  hot  breath  of  War  was  borne  upon 
the  wings  of  the  breezes  ;  and  the  atmos- 
phere became  poisonous  with  the  growing, 
but  then  indistinct,  smell  of  gunpowder. 

The  father  of  Dolores  Vaughn  was  a 
Democrat  of  the  severest  school  of  States 
Rights,  in  his  party  affiliations.  He  stead- 
ily opposed  the  Free  Soil  movement  from 
its  inception.  He  won  the  epithet,  Dough- 
Face,  from  his  political  adversaries  by  his 


DOLORES. 


47 


bold  denunciations  of  llie  Disunion  scliemes 
of  the  Republicans.  Now,  amid  the  dis- 
cordant clamor  of  sectional  bitterness,  his 
voice  pealed  like  a  clarion  for  Peace,  and 
for  Equal  Justice  under  the  Constitution. 

A  few  of  Mr.  Vaughn's  neighbors  and 
kinsmen  stood  with  him ;  but  they  were 
environed  by  a  phalanx  of  opposition.  De- 
traction aspersed,  and  threatenings  assailed 
them  from  every  quarter.  They  were 
marked  :  and  their  lives  were  in  peril. 

Still  they  were  unmoved,  unterrified  by 
the  hissing  storm  that  howled  around 
them.  They  listened  calmly  to  the  roar  of 
its  resounding  thunders,  and  dared  its 
blasting  lightnings  to  strike. 

But  it  was  the  struggle  of  the  one  against 
the  many.  In  the  end  it  was  to  have  its 
issue  in  the  defeat  of  the  weak,  the  triumph 
of  the  strong. 

Mr.  Vaughn  saw  this,  knew  what  was  to 
be  the  cost  of  maintaining  the  Right,  and 
had  the  wisdom  to  provide  for  the  emer- 
gency which  was  fast  becoming  inevitable. 
He  sold  his  farm ;  had  a  trying  scene 
with  his  wife  and  daughter ;  listened  pa- 
tiently to  their  expostulations  that  it  was 
safe  for  them  to  stay  where  it  was  safe  for 
himself  ;  told  them  resolutely  that  they 
must  leave  Vermont ;  and  then  sent  them 
to  the  South,  to  find  a  hospitable  place  of 
refuge  in  the  family  of  an  old  school-mate, 
until  they  could  return  home  without  dan- 
ger, or  until,  if  the  war  was  a  protracted 
one,  they  could  make  a  home  there  for 
themselves. 

Then  he  folded  his  arms,  and  waited  to 
be  martyred.     And  he  was  ! 


CHAPTER  VHI. 


Roland  Vernon  found  himself  entrap- 
ped in  a  most  disagreeable  dilemma  after 
he  had  been  engaged  to  Belle  Woodruff  a 
few  weeks— a  dilemma  that  made  him  mis- 
erable, and  caused  him  to  spend  the  months 
of  October,  November,  and  December  in  an 
unquiet  state  of  mind,  nearly  bordering  on 
insanity. 

It  was  his  chief  ambition  to  be  a  man  of 


honor.  He  had  no  respect  for  the  estimates 
the  world  places  on  men,  and  did  not  court 
its  applause  ;  but,  on  that  single  point  he 
was  peculiarly  sensitive,  and  would  have 
cheerfully  yielded  all  he  had  of  wealth,  po- 
sition, hope,  rather  than  have  been  sub- 
jected to  a  suspicion  that  he  was  capable  of 
doing  any  but  a  high-toned  act,  or  thinking 
any  but  a  high-toned  thought. 

This  may  have  been  the  sensitiveness  of 
youth  and  inexperience— a  very  unfashion- 
able sensitiveness  in  these  days  of  enlight- 
enment. But  it  was  far  from  being  dis- 
creditable to  his  heart. 

Yet  he  was  on  the  brmk  of  bringing  the 
suspicion,  which  above  all  others  he  dread- 
ed most— the  suspicion  of  duplicity  down 
upon  his  innocent  head. 

This  fear  distracted  him,  and  he  fled 
from  the  society  of  his  friends.  To  escape 
the  vigilant  eye  of  his  betrothed  he  jour- 
neyed away  from  home,  and  was  absent 
several  weeks,  travelling  from  place  to 
place  in  the  endeavor  to  make  this  trouble- 
some ghost  down  at  his  bidding.  But  he 
travelled  in  vain  ;  his  torture  was  only  in- 
tensified by  solitude,  increased  by  absence 
from  home  ;  and  he  lived  in  a  constant  ter 
ror  of  humiliating  exposure. 

A  few  days  before  Christmas  he  returned 
to  Rushbrook  the  thin,  gaunt  shadow  of  his 
happier  self;  returned  in  a  condition  of 
mind  more  fearful  than  when  he  left  home, 
hoping  to  forget  the  haunting,  tormenting 
consciousness  that  made  his  life  a  hell. 

It  was  night  when  he  entered  the  hall. 
No  one  Avas  stirring.  He  walked  to  the 
dining-room  door  and  looked  in.  It  was 
deserted.  Where  was  everybody?  Ah  I 
the  library ! 

Roland  bounded  across  the  passage  to  the 
library-door;  burst  in,  expecting  to  sur- 
prise his  mother ;  with  a  joj'ous  exclama- 
tion, used  to  disguise  his  gloom,  rushed  to- 
wards a  lady,  sitting  by  the  grate  with  her 
back  towards  the  door  ;  not  doubting  that 
it  was  Ms  mother,  clasped  his  hands  over 
her  eyes ;  bent  down  and  kissed  the  fair 
forehead. 

The  lady  struggled  to  disengage  herself ; 
then  screamed  out  her  affright  in  clamor- 
ous cries. 

Roland  released  her.  Instead  of  a  stately 
matron   with  a  face  beaming  with   affeo- 


4S 


DOLORES. 


tionate  welcome  turning  to  clasp  him  in 
her  arms,  a  beautiful  girl,  with  a  face  suf- 
fu3(.'d  -with  brilliant  blushes,  shrank  abashed 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace  and  then 
would  have  darted  from  the  room  to  hide 
her  confusion. 

Roland  was  thunderstruck ! 

"  Stay  !  "  he  cried — seeing  her  on  the 
point  of  leaving  the  room — in  a  disconcerted 
tone,  and  with  a  look  in  which  meek  peni- 
tence and  humorous  astonishment  were 
mingled.  "  Excuse  me,  I  pray  you  !  Hav- 
ing been  absent  from  home  several  weeks, 
I  had  not  anticipated  this  pleasure.  I  mis- 
took you  for  my  mother,  whom  I  had 
thought  to  find  here.     I  will  retire  and  seek 

her.     Pray  ex Why  it's   Dolokes! 

How    delighted    I  am  to  meet  you  !  " 

Roland  dashed  forward  and  seized  the 
little  hand  which  was  shyly  extended. 
And  then,  making  her  sit  down  and  sitting 
beside  her,  he  plied  her  with  questions,  not 
giving  her  a  chance  to  say  a  word  in  reply. 

The  screams  Dolores  had  given  reverbe- 
rated through  the  house  ;  and,  directly,  the 
whole  family  were  thronging  into  the  library. 

"It's  only  I!"  cried  Roland.  "This 
young  lady  frightened  me,  and  I  screamed. 

Do  QUIT  BLUSHING,  DOLOEES  !  " 

Explanations,  Welcomes,  and  Conversa- 
tion followed. 

The  Vernons  and  Leighs  who  looked 
down  from  the  canvass  upon  the  youngest 
scion  of  their  houses,  that  night,  gazed 
upon  two  scenes  of  unusual  strangeness. 
They  saw  him  meet  one,  in  whose  ears  he 
had  whispered  hia  tale  of  love,  and  by 
whom  he  had  been  rejected,  with  smiles  and 
flatteries,  while  she  tremblingly  "hung,  as 
the  bee,  on  the  honey  of  his  tongue."  And, 
when  she  had  retired,  they  saw  his  eye 
flash  with  a  deadly  purpose  and  a  weapon 

drawn  and  a But,  of  this,  in  another 

place.    Let  us  go  back  to  Alice  Reeves ! 


CHAPTER.  IX. 

Scene  :  The  Parsonage.  Time  :  Octo- 
ber, 18G0.  Dramatis  Person.e  :  A 
mother  and  her  daughter. 


"  Alice !  Alice !  You  mxist  struggle  with 
this  despondency ;  you  must  control  your- 
self, my  daughter.  Where  is  your  Pride?" 
Mrs.  Adams  spoke  tenderly,  but  there 
was  something  of  a  rebuke  in  her  tone  and 
words.  When  she  bent  over  and  kissed 
her  daughter  there  was  nothing  but  mater- 
nal sympathy  in  the  fond  gesture.  Noth- 
ing! 

Alice  was  in  a  torrent  of  grief,  as  her 
head  reposed  in  that  lap  in  which  it  had 
so  often  lain  in  childhood ;  she  was  xm- 
bosoming  her  distress,  and  seeking  the 
counsel  and  condolence  which  only  a 
mother's  love  can  supply. 

"But  to  have  been  so  outrageously 
duped ! "  sobbed  Alice,  in  answer  to  her 
mother's  appeal.  "  Oh  !  oh  !  oh !  My  heart 
will  break,  mother  ;  it  will  break !  To  think 
that  I  should  have  listened  to  Paul !  to 
think  that  I  should  have  distrusted  Ro- 
land ! — He,  who  was  always  so  kind !  so 
true !  To  think  that  I  should  have  be- 
lieved him  to  be  capable  of  insincerity  ! 
to  think  that  I  doubted  him.     Oh  !  oh  !  '' 

"Daughter,  be  calmer,  be  braver!"  ex- 
postulated Mrs.  Adams.  "Buoy  yourself 
up,  my  child  !  Perhaps  it  may  not  be  too 
late,  even  now,  to  explain  to  Mr.  Ver- 
non." 

"O  yes,  it  is  ;  yes,  it  is  too  late  now, 
mother!  After  what  I've  done,  I  could 
never  approach  him.  I  knoAV  he  must 
hate  me.  Don't  you  tliink  he  does 
mother  ?  " 

"  Not  if  he  really  loved  you,  my  dear ! 
And,  for  my  part,  I  can  see  no  reason  why 
you  shouldn't  tell  him  frankly  of  the  de- 
ception that  was  practiced.  If  your  injus- 
tice and  reproaches  stung  him  so  keenly, 
he  must  have  loved  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Adams  uttered  the  last  words  mu- 
singly, as  though  she  were  thinking  aloud. 

"  Oh  !  do  you  believe  that  ?  "  cried  Alice  ; 
but  then  adding  "  Of  course  he  loved  me 

—  WHY  MOTHER  HE  TOLD  ME  SO  !  " 

'  Did  he !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Adams,  with 
a  very  faint,  almost  imperceptible,  smile. 
"  Then,  if  he  told  you  so,  I  suj)pose  he  did 
love  you ! " 

And,  making  this  remark,  Mrs.  Adams 
smiled  quietly  again,  at  her  daughter's 
innocence ;  and  patted  her  head,  and  said, 
"  Poor  child  ! " 


DOLORES. 


49 


Then  Madam  Oracle  looked  at  her 
daughter's  tear-stained  face,  and  drew  her 
nearer,  and  embraced  her  fondly.  At 
length,  she  spoke  ;  saying,  after  clearing 
her  throat  and  looking  very  gravely  for  a 
minute. 

"  Etiquette  ought  not  to  be  defied  by 
young  ladies :  although  there  are  times 
when  that  even  may  be  disregarded  !  " 

"What  does  mother  mean?"  thought 
Alice,  watcliing  the  grave  face  that  was 
beaming  over  her  Avith  tenderness  depicted 
in  every  feature. 

"  So  1  shall  write  a  note  to  Mr.  Vernon," 
continued  Mrs.  Adams  ;  "  and  see  if  I  can- 
not adjust  this  lover's  quarrel  that  you  have 
so  foolishly  precipitated.  That  is,  if  you 
are  right  sure  that  he  ever  loved  you, 
and  that  you  still  love  him are  you  ? 

"  Oh !  sweet  Mamma !  "  cried  Alice,  her 
face  brightening  and  her  tears  all  vanishing. 

"  Well !     What    do    you    think -did 

he?" 

Alice's  face  was  hidden  in  her  mother's 
lap ;  but  there  was  a  faint  gurgle  in  her 
throat ;  and,  then,  a  rapturous,  "  Yes,  I  know 
he  did  ;  and  does  now,  for  that  mother  !  " 

And  she  cried  again,  for  joy  this  time. 

"  Trust  everytliing  to  me,  and  be  a  good 
cheerful  girl.  I'll  write  to-morrow.  There 
now  ! — will  j'ou  sleep  soundly  to-night  ?" 

Exeunt  omncs. 

Note.  —  This  very  same  niglit  Belle 
Woodrufi"  retired  very  happy ;  for  Roland 
told  her  in  the  afternoon  that  the  family  at 
liushbrook  were  highly  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  her  becoming  his  bride. 


Scene  shifters,  to  your  posts !  Whir ! 
Whir  !     Whir !     All  Right  ! 

Time:  The  following  afternoon.  Scene: 
Tlie  portico  of  the  Parsonage.  Enter  Alice 
and  Mrs.  Adams. 

"  Yes,  dear !  Run  along.  Get  your  hat 
and  shawl,  and  walk  a  little  in  the  fresh 
air.     You  need  exercise  !  " 

"  Suppose  I  should  meet  him  f  " 

"  All  the  better,  dear !  He  '11  give  your 
cheeks  their  roses  back.  Naughty  fellow  ! 
to  have  stolen  my  child's  heart !  " 

Obeying  her  mother,  Alice  Reeves  got 
ready  and  bounded  into  the  street  with  a 
4 


lighter  heart  than  she  had  carried  for 
weeks  and  weeks.  She  walked  rapidly  ; 
and,  imperceptibly  went  in  the  direction  of 
the  Old  Oak,  at  the  roots  of  which  Roland 
Vernon  first  declared  his  love. 

Reaching  this  trysting-place  of  yore  she 
reclined  at  the  foot  of  the  dear  old  tree. 
Thick  coming  memories  hurried  fast  upon 
one  another  as  she  sat  there ;  and,  thrilling 
with  passionate  and  precious  recollections, 
she  was  quickly  oblivious  to  all  that  sur- 
rounded her.  and  had  even  forgotten  the 
great  grief  that  had  weighed  on  her  soul  so 
heavily  of  late  that  she  was  pale  and  wan 
from  its  inroads. 

She  lived  again  the  short  exquisitely 
blissful  hours  of  the  past ;  the  image  of  her 
lover,  called  up,  by  lier  imagination,  from 
the  banishment  to  which  she  had  striven  to 
consign  it,  rose  distinctly  before  her  eyes  ; 
and  the  old  tender  looks  beamed  down  upon 
her  as  they  had  used  to  do ;  his  dearly  re- 
membered words  of  endearment — the  gentle 
epithets,  the  pet  names  by  which  he  had 
addressed  her,  made  her  ears  tingle  once 
more  ;  and  the  wild  throbbings  of  madden- 
ing love  pulsated  quickly  again.  Her  medi- 
tations were  sweet  as  she  was  wrapt  in  this 
delightful  revery. 

"  Alice !    Alice  ! " 

Only  that  low  murmured  word,  repeated 
in  a  louder  tone,  broke  the  quietude  of  the 
spell. 

She  heard  it.  She  recognized  the  voice. 
She  saw  a  familiar  form  standing  above 
her.  She  knew  whose  glances  were  bent 
upon  her  face. 

"  Surely  I  am  dreaming !  It  cannot  be — 
it  cannot  be  that  he  has  come  back  !  "  she 
exclaimed  rubbing  her  eyes  and  looking 
dazedly  around. 

But  she  was  not  dreaming  !  It  icas 
he! 

"  Yes  ! "     Yes ;  it  is  Roland ! " 

With  this  joyoits  cry  on  her  lips,  Alice 
Reeves  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  Belle 
Woodruif' s  betrothed  husband,  and  he 
caught  her  fainting  form  in  his  embrace. 

"  Alice !    My  own  Alice !  " 

At  length  she  spoke — spoke  words  of  en- 
dearment. 

"0  Roland!  Dear,  dear  Roland!  You 
have  come  back  to  me  at  last !  Oh  I  oh ! 
How  I  do  love  you  !  " 


60 


DOLORES. 


"  Yes,  clearest !  And  I  love  you  a  thou- 
sand tinu'S  better  than  ever !  " 

Roland  forgot  Belle  ;  forgot  that  he  was 
a  gentleman,  and  was  only  a  man  ;  forgot 
the  words  he  had  spoken  to  another,  and 
took  no  thought  of  the  consequences  of  this 
short-lived  bliss. 

"And  you  received  mother's  note?" 
asked  Alice,  after  a  pause. 

"  No." 

"  Then  you  have  seen  her  ?  " 

"  No." 

Prouder  than  woman  ever  was  before — 
proud  because  he  came  back  without  ex- 
jilanation,  urged  oniy  by  his  own  desire  for 
her  love,  for  so  she  thought  he  had  come — 
she  lucidly  and  rapidly  detailed  the  story 
of  Paul  Adams'  treachery,  and  told  him  that 
she  knew  this  from  his  own  lips,  that  she  had 
overheard  him  boasting  of  it  to  his  father. 

A  cloud  of  anger  settled  on  Vernon's 
brow,  as  he  listened;  he  clenched  his 
teeth,  and  trembled  with  a  mighty  fury. 

"  Nay  !  He  is  unwortliy  of  resentment," 
said  Alice,  when  she  noticed  the  scowl  of 
wrath  that  instantly  converted  him  into  a 
demon.  "  You  must  not  think  of  punishing 
him  as  he  deserves.  For  mother's  sake, 
promise  me,  Eoland  !  Kemember  he  is  her 
husband's  son  !  "  , 

Vernon  was  silent ! 

Alice  pressed  her  point, 

"  Roland,  if  you  love  me,  promise  !  " 

He  ground  his  teeth,  and  answered, 

"  Tlie  reptile  !  For  the  present  he  may 
escape  ;  but  the  time  will  come  when  I  will 
crush  him  under  my  foot." 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  STorTER,  and  yet  a  kinder  heart,  never 
beat  in  human  bosom  than  that  of  Roland 
Vernon.  No  one  could  endure  more  suffer- 
ing, but  no  one  more  disliked  to  occasion  it 
in  others,  lie  would  have  turned  from  his 
path  to  avoid  treading  on  a  spider  ;  he 
would  have  given  his  last  morsel  of  bread 
to  the  veriest  miscreant  and  starved  himself 
rather  than  have  witnessed  his  distress  ; 
lie  would  have  sacrificed  his  own  ease  and 


encountered  discomfort  to  accommodate  a 
friend  ;  and  he  would  have  chosen  the  tor- 
tures of  the  rack,  and  borne  them  with  for- 
titude, in  preference  to  willfully  occasioning 
grief  to  a  fellow-creature. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  how  a 
I^rson  of  tlus  character  would  naturally 
shrink  from  the  performance  of  such  a  du- 
ty as  now  devolved  upon  liirn  ;  not  difficult 
to  understand  that  he  could  not  tell  Belle 
Woodruff  of  the  change  in  his  feelings 
which,  just  at  the  moment  of  her  completed 
happiness,  occurred  to  destroy  the  hope  of 
a  fulfillment  of  her  bright  anticipations. 

No !  Roland  Vernon  was  unable  to  utter 
the  words  which  he  ought  to  have  uttered. 
He  could  not  inform  his  betrothed  wife  that 
another's  smiles,  another's  love  was  dearer 
to  him  than  her  smiles  and  love.  It  was 
the  kind  of  nerve  that  he  did  not  possess — 
the  nerve  to  occasion  pain. 

What  could  he  say  to  her  ?  What  ex- 
planation could  he  make  ?  What  consola- 
tion, what  amends  could  he  offer? 

Yet,  he  could  not  undeceive  Alice.  He 
neglected,  in  the  whirl  of  excitement  that 
followed  her  sobbing  reiteration  of  love,  to 
inform  her  of  the  engagement  with  Belle 
and  that  the  time  for  his  marriage  with  her 
was  appointed  ;  and  having  neglected  this 
then,  and  permitted  her  to  hope  that  the 
past  was  to  be  forgotten  in  the  future,  there 
was  no  chance  for  him,  having  encouraged 
her  expectations,  to  make  a  subsequent  con- 
fession and  throw  himself  ujwn  her  gen- 
erosity. This  would  have  crushed  her 
heart,  and  cost  him  irreparable  misery. 

Entangled  in  this  dilemma  he  knew  not 
how  to  extricate  himself  without  compro- 
mising his  reputation  and  infficting  sul 
fering.  He  saw  no  escape  except  in  wait- 
ing. 

But  to  wait  he  must  keep  silence  ;  to  be 
silent,  for  a  day,  for  an  hour,  was  to  resort 
to  dishonor  and  duplicity. 

His  very  strength  was  weakness ;  his 
greatest  virtue  became  a  vice. 

Then  hesitating  he  delayed  any  action  ; 
delaying  he  became  more  deeply  entangled ; 
and,  at  last,  despairing  of  preserving  his 
honor,  he  submitted  to  his  fate. 

But  he  was  haunted  by  a  feeling  of  self- 
contempt.  He  sought  to  rid  himself  of  this 
tormentor  ;  he  withdrew  himself  from  so- 


D  0  L  0  E  E  S . 


51 


ciety  ;  he  travelled ;  he  came  hack  home  pil- 
loried with  remorse. 

Still,  all  the  while,  he  was  hlameless,  and 
was  only  the  victim  of  circumstances.  Striv- 
ing to  avoid  duplicity,  he  practiced  decep- 
tion ;  seeking  to  do  right,  he  stumbled  up- 
on wrong. 

It  was  this  consciousness  of  innocence  of 
all  intention  to  do  wrong,  and  of  no  crime 
save  weakness,  however,  that  made  the 
poignancy  of  his  regret  so  deplorably  intol- 
erable. 

Under  the  stress  of  this  unendurable  self- 
reproach  his  mind  became  diseased ;  and 
the  depression  and  despondency,  broken 
only  by  a  fitful  flash  of  cheerfulness  in  a 
moment  of  oblivion,  that  weighed  upon  his 
heart  and  brain,  and  foreboded  evil. 

During  his  absence  from  Rushbrook  he 
considered  all  the  attendant  circumstances 
of  his  unfortunate  entanglement  in  this 
double  engagement,  and  tried  to  foresee  its 
consequences.  His  mind  was  in  no  condi- 
tion to  make  nice  discriminations  and  the 
result  of  his  deliberations  was  a  resolution 
to  do  the  most  foolish  thing  that  a  disor- 
dered imagination  could  suggest. 

The  grave  had  no  terrors  for  his  soul ;  a 
life  without  honor,  a  consciousness  of  honor 
and  a  reputation  for  dishonor,  had  no 
charm  ;  he  would  cut  the  Gordian  knot  by 
self-immolation.  But  to  die  the  death  of  a 
suicide  in  a  strange  place  was  not  a  part  of 
his  purpose ;  and,  once  having  determined 
upon  his  course,  he  hastened  back  to  Rush- 
brook,  to  execute  his  desperate  design  in 
his  father's  house,  where  the  prying  and 
scandal-loving  world  coiild  not  penetrate  to 
gloat  over  the  horrible  details. 

"  The  native  hue  of  resolution  "  did  not 
sickly  "  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought " 
when  he  reached  home ;  but  came  nearer 
taking  the  "  name  of  action." 

As  the  reader  knows,  Roland  found  Do- 
lores Vaughn  in  the  library  at  Rushbrook 
upon  his  arrival,  and  that  he  sat  late  con- 
versing with  her  and  the  members  of  the 
home  circle. 

One  after  another  all  went  off  to  bed, 
save  Roland  only.  When  he  heard  the 
last  chamber-door  slam,  and  was  convinced 
that  he  alone  of  all  the  household  watched, 
awalvc,  he  turned  the  key  in  the  library 
dooi' ;  took  the  lamp  from  its  place  on  the 


mantle  ;  opened  his  desk  in  the  rear  of  the 
room,  and,  taking  paper,  pen  and  ink, 
wrote  three  letters. 

One  was  to  BeUe  Woodruff,  in  Avhich  he 
told  her  the  story  of  his  engagement  to 
Alice  Reeves,  their  rapture,  and  their  sub- 
sequent meeting  and  reconciliation.  In  re- 
gard to  this  he  said  that  he  strayed  with- 
out any  design  to  the  Old  Oak,  found  Alice 
there,  her  cheeks  wan,  her  form  emaciated, 
her  eyes  w^eak  with  traces  of  weeping,  and, 
oh  !  so  changed,  that  he  could  not  forbear 
to  pity  her,  relent  his  anger,  and  seek  a  re- 
newal of  friendship  ;  that  he  had  intended 
no  more  when  he  approached  her ;  but 
that,  when,  upon  the  utterance  of  her  name 
by  him,  she  rushed  to  throw  herself  upon 
his  neck  with  words  of  tenderness  on  her 
tongue,  he  could  not  restrain  the  impulse 
to  clasp  her  to  his  bosom  ;  and,  further- 
more, that  having  heard  the  cause  of  her 
resentment  which  had  originally  occasioned 
the  break  between  himself  and  her — the 
treachery  of  her  stepbrother — the  old 
warmth  came  bounding  back  again,  and  he 
found  that  he  loved  Alice  more  fondly  than 
Having  said  ihis  in  extenuation,  he 


ever. 


briefly  told  her  that  he  was  impelled  to  the 
step  which  he  was  about  to  take  by  a  feel- 
ing of  inability  to  encounter  her  after  hav- 
ing been  so  recreant  to  his  duty  to  her. 

Another  was  to  Alice,  and  contained  a 
similar  explanation  ;  but  this  one  concluded 
by  a  wild  protestation  of  love. 

A  third  was  written  to  Colonel  Vernon, 
in  which  a  full  and  comprehensive  state- 
ment of  the  considerations  inducing  his 
rash  act  was  given. 

The  letters  written,  folded,  enveloped, 
and  addressed,  Roland  drew  forth  a  Der- 
ringer pistol,  and  deliberately  loaded  it. 

Rising  from  his  seat  he  took  the  lamp 
and  placed  it  again  on  the  mantlepiece,  un- 
der the  lamp  he  put  the  three  letters  ;  and 
then  he  walked  to  the  door  and  unlocked 
it. 

Now  every  preparation  was  completed  ; 
nothing  was  left  to  be  done  except  to  place 
the  muzzle  between  his  fingers,  his  hand 
covering  and  feeling  the  pulsations  of  his 
heart,  and  the  pulling  of  the  trigger. 

He  was  wonderfully  calm. 

Ah !  'twas  a  pity  for  so  much  youthful 
promise  and  talent,  virtue  and  gentleness, 


53 


DOLORES. 


to  be  driven  to  tliis  gclf-sought,  self-inflict- 
ed death.  Yet  there  was  no  sign  of  relent- 
ing as  he  crossed  the  floor  to  the  fireplace, 
to  make  a  last  inspection,  to  take  a  last 
thought,  whether  all  was  right,  whether 
anything  had  been  neglected. 

A  blaze  flickered  in  the  grate,  and  the 
red  hot  coals  cast  a  curious  glamour  on  the 
opposite  wall.  Roland  turned  to  look  at 
the  bright  reflection,  and  his  eye  rested  on 
tho  face  of  James  Leigh,  peering,  with  a 
luminous  glitter  in  his  eyes,  peering  down 
u]X)n  his  grandson  from  the  gilt-framed 
canvass. 

Boland  trcnibkd !  HEHEeiTATED!  HE 
REMEMBERED  THE  OATH ! 

In  the  presence  of  his  forefathers  the 
young  man  stood  irresolute  !  He  recollect- 
ed the  promise  to  James  Leigh  never  to 
bring  reproach  on  the  name  or  on  the  blood 
that  he  inherited.  And  self-murder  was 
considered  by  the  world  to  be  dishonora- 
ble! 

But  was  it  so  great  a  dishonor  as  false- 
hood, treachery  ;  and  to  a  woman  ? 

There  hung  the  portrait  of  the  oldest 
Louis  Vernon,  who  preferred  death  by  his 
own  hand  on  the  field  of  Preston  Pans  to 
living  a  captive  of  his  enemies — and  his 
memory  was  revered !  Surely  to  live  in 
disgrace  was  far  worse  than  the  most  in- 
tolerable captivity  !  Such  were  Vernon's 
thoughts  as  he  stood  there  considering ; 
and  he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  end  the 
suspense  of  Doubt. 

BUT  THE  OATH  !     It  left  no  choice  ! 

James  Leigh  had  cut  out  work  for  Ro- 
land Vernon — the  boy  was  to  win  a  fame 
as  honorable  as  any  of  his  line  ;  and  the 
work  was  still  unfinished,  the  Oath  unful- 
filled. 

Reason  resumed  her  throne  ;  Roland 
Vernon  submitted  to  his  Destinv. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Nature  had  been  prodigal  of  her  gifts  to 
Roland  Vernon  ;  but  then  among  his  other 
faculties  he  did  not  possess  that  flexibility 
of  countenance  which   easilv   counterfeits 


passion.  Indeed,  lie  was  a  very  poor  actor, 
and  had  little  capacity  for  dissimulation. 

Up  to  this  time  he  had  no  occasion  for 
the  exercise  of  such  a  power  ;  but  now  he 
was  sadly  in  need  of  some  talent  of  this  de- 
scription, for,  all  unjiracticed  as  he  was,  he 
met  with  very  indifferent  success  in  the  ef- 
fort to  conceal  the  change  of  his  sentiments 
from  Belle  Woodruff. 

With  quick  perception,  and  a  rare 
womanly  tact,  she  immediately  discovered, 
from  his  undisguised  desire  to  produce  a 
different  impression,  that  something  had 
gone  wrong  with  Roland  ;  and,  suspecting 
this,  she  commenced  instantly  to  fathom 
the  secret  which  was  being  hidden  from  her 
with  such  awkward  but  dogged  persist- 
ence. 

She  forbore  all  inquiry  ;  but  waited  pa- 
tiently with  an  unshaken  confidence  that 
there  would  be  an  ultimate  disclosure. 

Roland  continued  his  visits  to  The 
Meadows  at  regular  intervals,  and  preserved 
an  outward  show  of  affection  for  his  be- 
trothed ;  but  he  did  this  at  the  sacrifice  of 
self  esteem  and  with  a  heavy  soul. 

Belle  i^ersisted  in  watching  him  closely  ; 
but  all  her  schemes  to  entrap  him  into  a 
confession  of  some  hidden  trouble  were 
bafiied. 

"Then  there  must  be  some  very  vexa- 
tious thing  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  mys- 
tery ! " 

She  thought  this,  and  her  perplexity  be- 
came more  intense.  Perplexity  was  suc- 
ceeded by  premonitions,  and  tremblings, 
and  fears.  She  was  fretted,  and  resolved 
all  the  more  determinedly  that  her  suspense 
should  be  brought  to  an  end. 

Meanwhile  Roland's  courtship  was  tender 
enough  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  require- 
ments of  social  usage ;  but  no  more.  He 
acted  as  became  a  gentleman  who  had  de- 
termined to  marry  a  lady  no  longer  loved. 

Belle's  quickness  of  apprehension  ena- 
bled her  to  perceive  everything,  and  this 
fact  in  the  midst  of  many  others. 

So  things  went  until  February,  and  then 
Belle's  impatience  impelled  her  to  action. 

Roland  was  paying  one  of  his  stated 
visits,  and  sat  with  her  in  the  drawing-room 
at  The  Meadows.  Both  were  looking  va- 
cantly into  the  bed  of  burning  coals  Avhich 
threw  a  red  glow  from  the  grate.     Roland 


DOLORES. 


53 


was  in  a  fit  of  abstraction  ;  Belle's  wits  were 
wool-gathering.  For  a  long  time  neither 
had  disturbed  the  other's  thoughts  with  an 
observation. 

Rousing,  at  length,  from  the  revery  in 
which  she  had  been  indulging,  the  young 
lady  turned  her  eyes  towards  her  compan- 
ion, and,  with  a  quick  penetrating  look, 
boldly  inquired, 

"  So  you  repfent  those  fair  Avords — you 
no  longer  love  me  ?  " 

Roland  was  startled  from  his  meditations, 
and  grew  confused  and  hesitated. 

She  saw  that  her  coup  had  placed  his  .se- 
cret at  her  mercy. 

"  How  absurd  an  idea !  "  he  replied,  after 
rallying  from  his  surprise. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Vernon,"  was  the  well-timed 
retort ;  "  there  is  no  need  of  protestations. 
Off  with  the  mask.  Tell  me  frankly  that 
you  have  repented  !  " 

"  Repented  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  poorly 
acted  astonishment. 

"  Away  with  disguises  !  "  she  continued. 
"  Make  me  your  confidante.  Let  me  aid 
j-ou  to  remove  all  the  obstructions  to  your 
happiness.  This  state  of  things  cannot,  and 
shall  not,  continue  !  There  is  something 
on  your  mind — some  secret ;  and  I  must 
share  it ! " 

Brought  squarely  up  to  this  point,  forced 
to  make  a  specific  denial,  or  to  acknowledge 
the  truth  of  her  suspicions ;  and  no  loop- 
hole for  escape  left,  Vernon  met  her 
frankly. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right.  I  have  a  secret , 
but  you  cannot  share  it !  " 

"  Then,  sir,  I  must  believe  that  secret  to 
be  one  that  aflPects  me  directly,  one  that  af- 
fects our  relations  as  affianced  man  and  wife. 
Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Roland  was  silent. 

"  You  do  not  reply  !  Then  I  am  not 
mistaken.  I  must  ask,  therefore,  to  be  re- 
leased from  my  pledges ;  and  I  insist  upon 
receiving  the  release  !  " 

"You  are  excited,  Belle!  Does  it  cost 
you  nothing  to  make  such  a  demand  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  persist  in  your  refusal  to  dis- 
close your  secret !  " 

"  Then  you  can  forego  my  love  so  easUy  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  have  no  charge  to  make  against 
me  for  unfaithfulness  ?  " 


"  None ;  except  that  you  refuse  me  your 
confidence." 

"  You  still  demand  a  release  ?  " 

"Yes!" 

The  dialogue  proceeded  calmly  thus  far  ; 
question  and  answer  following  in  quick  suc- 
cession ;  Roland  and  Belle  looking  each 
other  firmly  in  the  eyes. 

"  Then  I  release  you  ! " 

A  deep  pause.  Then  Vernon  rose  to  go 
and  confronted  Belle. 

"  We  are  to  be  friends  still '? "  she  asked, 
as  he  took  her  hand  which  she  extended 
when  he  said  "  Good  night." 

"  Forever  !  Perhaps,  confidantes  one  of 
these  days." 

The  extrication  came  thus  unexpectedly  ; 
but  it  was  none  the  less  welcome  on  that 
score. 


.  CHAPTER  Xn. 

Mr.  Vaughn  wrote  to  his  old  school 
friend,  Charles  Vernon,  stating  the  condi- 
tion of  aflFairs   in   the   North,  and   asking 

about  C town  as  a  place  of  refuge  for 

his  family  till  the  fury  of  popular  passion 
subsided  in  the  country. 

When  Colonel  Vernon  received  this  let- 
ter he  immediately  replied  and  warmly  in- 
vited Mrs.  and  Miss  Vaughn  to  make  his 
house  their  home,  promising  to  take  good 
care  of  theni   until   they  could   return   to 

B with  safety,  or  until  proper  provision 

could  be  made  for  their  permanent  comfort. 

This  invitation  was  so  cordially  extend- 
ed, together  with  a  pressing  appeal  to  Mr. 
Vaughn  not  to  endanger  his  life  by  remain- 
ing where  it  would  be  in  imminent  jeopar- 
dy and  to  come  South  with  his  family, 
that  he  could  not  but  feel  under  obligation 
to  accept  for  Dolores  and  her  mother  the 
generously  offered  hospitality  of  his  Caro- 
lina friends. 

And  so  it  was  that  Roland  Vernon  found 
Dolores  domesticated  at  Rushbrook  upon 
his  return  from  his  protracted  tour. 

Dolores  had  not  utterly  relinquished  her 
designs  upon  Vernon's  heart  when  she 
came  South  ;  but  a  few  weeks'  residence  at 


54 


DOLORES. 


Kushbrook  convinced  her  that  he  had  al- 
most forgotten  that  he  ever  professed  to 
love  lier,  and  that  she  must  abandon  all 
expectation  of  regaining  her  mastery  over 
Lis  afloctions. 

Roland  treated  her  with  a  familiarity 
that  forbade  all  hope  of  attracting  him  to 
her  side  as  a  suitor.  lie  -was  affectionate 
and  kind,  but  his  affection  was  the  unem- 
barrassed affection  of  a  brother,  rather  than 
the  shrinking  devotion  or  the  passionate 
fervor  of  a  lover. 

Love  is  a  flower  that,  with  a  few  spo- 
radic exceptions,  dies  in  the  shade  ;  and 
Dolores,  when  she  appreciated  the  extent  of 
the  change  in  Koland's  sentiments,  soon 
learned  to  subdue  the  tenderness  which 
gushed  out  afresh  at  her  meetings  with  her 
ci-devant  admirer  and  slave. 

After  spending  a  couple  of  months  very 
pleasantly  at  Eushbrook,  when  it  became 
apparent    that   war    was    inevitable,   the 

Vaughns  rented  a  dwelling  in  C town, 

and  were  soon  settled  in  their  new  home. 

It  was  natural  that  a  girl  of  such  rare 
attractions  as  Dolores  possessed  should  win 
her  way  in  a  society  which  she  Avas  emi- 
nently fitted  to  adorn,  and  that  she  should 
secure  a  train  of  devoted  admirers  among 
the  members  of  the  other  sex.  And  such 
was  the  case. 

Paul  Adams  was  constant  in  his  atten- 
tions and  very  devoted.  If  his  soul  was 
capable  of  entertaining  such  an  exalted  sen- 
timent, he  loved  her  very  fondly,  and 
pressed  his  siege  against  the  citadel  of  her 
heart  with  stubborn  vigor  and  earnest  en- 
thusiasm. 

Dolores  was  dazzled  by  the  bright  intel- 
lect of  the  man  ;  and,  flattered  by  the  elo- 
quent praises  which  he  knew  so  well  how 
to  bestow,  she  soon  capitulated  and  thought 
herself  compensated  for  the  loss  of  lloland 
Vernon. 

Roland  watched  the  progress  of  this 
courtship ;  and,  at  the  proper  time,  cau- 
tioned Dolores  thai  Adams  was  unworthy 
of  her  regard  ;  but  she  gave  him  a  bitter 
retort  and  hushed  his  friendly  admonitions. 

And  so  she  was  ruined.     Utterly  ! 


When  Jock  Wright  ascertained  that 
Roland  Vernon's  engagement  with  Belle 
Woodruff  was  broken  off,  he  determined  to 
risk  another  venture  ;  and  forthwith  com- 
menced a  renewal  of  his  rejected  suit — this 
time  with  a  fairer  i^rospect  of  reward  for 
long-enduring  love. 

So,  without  further  obstruction  the  cur- 
rent of  true  love  thenceforth  ran  smooth. 
Until  Spring  nothing  occurred  to  mar  the 
general  joy  of  our  heroines  and  their  lovers. 
But,  when  April  was  near  its  close,  there 
came 

"  Sudden  partings  such  as  press 
The  life  out  of  young  hearts ;  and  choking  sighs 
"W'bich  ne'er  might  be  repeated." 

Paul  Adams  and  Dolores  were  married 
early  in  the  mouth  ;  later,  by  two  or  three 
weeks,  Roland  Vernon  and  Alice  knelt  to- 
gether at  the  altar ;  while  the  festivities 
which  followed  these  weddings  got  Jock 
Wright  to  meditating  about  marriage  rings, 
and  brought  dreams  of  orange-blossom 
wreaths  to  the  pillow  of  the  heiress  of  The 
Meadows. 

It  would  be  well  if  the  words — and  all 
WEiJE  HAPPY ! — might  be  written  here,  the 
closing  sentence  of  this  narrative. 

But,  alas  !  that  which  has  been  chron- 
icled, is  but  the  introduction  to  the  more 
tragic  scenes,  which  a  regard  for  truth  im- 
pels the  editor  to  transcribe. 

Even  while  the  air  was  filled  with  sounds 
of  pealing,  rejoicing  marriage-bells ;  even 
while  the  benedictions  of  the  minister  were 
still  fresh  tingling  in  the  cars  of  happy 
brides ;  even  while  Jock  Wright  mused 
hopefully  and  Belle  Woodruff's  mind  was 
seething  with  delicious  reveries,  loud  sal- 
vos of  artillery,  mingled  with  exultant 
cheers  bursting  from  thousands  of  hoarse 
throats  in  a  distant  Southern  city,  hailed 
the  arrival  of  an  Era,  which  was  to  bring 
gloom,  adversity,  and  subjugation  to  a 
brave  people. 

Honeymoons  were  disturbed  by  the 
booming  of  cannon  at  Sumpter  ;  and  Pat- 
riotism conquered  Love ;  and  Husbands, 
leaving  weeping  Wives,  went  forth  to  the 
Battles  of  Civil  War. 


BOOK    III. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Thk  War  commenced  almost  simultane- 
ously at  Charleston  and  Baltimore.  The 
first  round  was  fought ;  the  combatants 
paused  a  moment  to  breathe  before  plung- 
ing into  the  deepened  struggle. 

It  was  May,  1861.  A  calm  preceded  the 
storm,  a  brief  season  of  quiet  was  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  a  fearful  campaign.  The  month 
was  active  with  preparations.  Troops  were 
being  recruited  and  organized  into  compa- 
nies and  battalions,  brigades  and  divisions. 

Camp  Winslow   was    situated    on    the 

W Railroad,  and  was  commanded  by 

Colonel  Robert  Ashe.  Gentleman,  Politi- 
cian, Secessionist,  Orator,  Soldier. 

The  passing  trains  carrying  soldiers  to 
Virginia  could  be  seen  from  the  hillside  on 
which  Camp  Winslow  was  located.  The 
encampment  was  in  a  large  oak  grove,  that 
swept  up  a  gradual  elevation  from  the  rail- 
road. The  marquee  of  Colonel  Ashe  was  in 
the  centre  of  the  rear  line  that  rested  just 
upon  the  brow  of  the  eminence,  and  had 
two  entrances,  one  opening  from  the  front 
and  looking  out  upon  the  rows  of  company 
tents  that  lay  in  advance,  the  other  from 
the  rear  and  affording  a  view  of  the  village 

of  II ,  the  depot,  and  the  track  of  the 

railroad. 

Five  or  six  companies  were  quartered  in 
the  straggling  t«nts  in  the  foregroimd.  On 
a  bench  in  front  of  the  Colonel's  marquee, 
the  officers  of  these  commands  were  con- 
versing together,  speculating  xipon  the 
probabilities  of  the  contest  being  ended  be- 
fore they  could  get  to  Virginia. 

Colonel  Ashe  was  addressing  himself  on 


that  morning  of  the  16th  of  May  to  a  young 
man  who  flushed  with  pride  at  being  called 
Adjutant. 

As  their  conversation  touches  upon  a 
subject  of  interest  to  the  reader,  we  Avill 
draw  near  and  listen. 

"  You  do  not  really  doubt  that  young 
Vernon  wiU  enter  the  service.  Adjutant  ?  " 
says  Colonel  Ashe. 

"  I  certainly  do,  Colonel." 

"  And  pray  tell  me  why — I  had  thought 
better  of  the  young  man  than  to  believe 
that  he  would  prove  recreant  at  such  a 
time  as  this,  when  every  man  in  Carolina 
ought  to  be  in  the  field." 

"  There  are  several  reasons,"  said  the 
Adjutant  after  a  slight  hesitation. 

"  Well,  what  are  they  ?  When  I  met 
Vernon  I  was  highly  pleased  with  his  bold- 
ness, talent,  and  sentiments — still  I  have 
only  met  him  once." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  answered  Adjutant 
Paul  Adams,  "  Col.  Vernon  has  been  elect- 
ed to  the  Convention  which  meets  in  Ra- 
leigh on  the  20th  inst.  He  wiU  make  his 
mark  in  that  body,  will  be  in  a  position  to 
command  favors  of  Gov.  Ellis,  will  provide 
good  berths  for  himself  and  his  son,  and 
both  will  be  patriotic  at  home.  Col.  Ver- 
non has  been  recommended  for  Congress- 
man by  two  or  three  of  the  newspapers." 

"  Is  that  your  only  reason  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  Colonel !  " 

"  Then,  sir,  your  opinion  is  a  mere  sur- 
mise. There  is  no  better  blood — fighting 
blood ! — in  North  Carolina  than  runs  in 
Roland  Vernon's  veins.  He  comes  of  a  race 
of  soldiers ! " 

"  Oh !  I  was  not  aware  that  he  was  a 


5G 


DOLOEES. 


particular     friend,    Colonel  —  I    beg    par- 
don!" 

"  He  is  not ;  but  I  know  the  stock.  Ro- 
land Vernon  will  be  in  tins  fight,  will  die 
iu  it,  or  will  cut  his  way  to  immortal 
honor." 

"  You  may  bo  right,  sir  ;  but  I  consider 
myself  a  pretty  good  judge  of  human  na- 
ture ! " 

"You  do?  Then  being  a  judge  of  hu- 
man nature,  knowing  Vernon  thoroughly, 
you  say  he  will  play  the  sneak  !  By  God, 
sir,  I'd  quicker  suspect  you  !  " 

Paul  Adams  made  no  response  ;  and  Col. 
Ashe  proceeded  : 

"  Captain  Richardson  thinks  he  will  suc- 
ceed in  raijiing  the  company  ;  Jack  Morris- 
son  swears  he  vnll  be  in  the  field  in  ten 
days — you  only  seem  to  doubt  his  patriot- 
ism and  courage.  I  shall  write  to  him  im- 
mediately and  ask  him  to  join  my  regi- 
ment. Perhaps  an  invitation  from  me  will 
fix " 

"  There's  another  arrival  of  troops  !  " 
interrupted  Adams,  pointing  to  the  crowd- 
ed box  cars  of  a  long  train  just  sweeping 
in  sight. 

The  air  was  rent  by  a  lusty  cheer  from 
the  camp,  which  was  responded  to  from  the 
train.  Then  everybody  hastened  towards 
the  depot. 

Col.  Ashe  was  met  by  an  orderly  with 
despatches,  and  turned  back  to  attend  to 
them. 

"  Ah  !  Vernon  ordered  to  report  to  me  I 
Perhaps  his  company  is  on  that  train — I'll 
step  down  and  see !  "  he  exclaimed  when 
he  finished  the  perusal  of  the  Adjutant- 
General's  communication. 

He  met  Adams  in  the  door,  and  said  : 

"  Glad  you've  come !  I  wanted  you. 
Tell  Richardson  to  get  ready  to  leave  this 
for  Raleigh  at  half-past  one — his  company 
is  taken  from  me  and  put  into  the  First 
Regiment.  And,  I  say,  Vernon  has  raised 
his  company  and  will  report  to  me." 

'■  Yes,  sir.  He  is  here.  Oh,  Colonel,  I 
hope  you'll  not  mention  what  I  said  to  you. 
I  spoke  in  confidence." 

"  Certainly  not !  " 

"  Here  comes  Captain  Vernon  now — ^look- 
ing for  you,  no  doubt !  " 

"Indeed!"    And  turning  Col.  Ashe  ad- 


vanced to  meet  the  young  officer,  cordially 
exclaiming,  as  he  grasped  his  hand, 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you,  sir — very  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Colonel !  I  feared  you 
would  not  remember  me.  How  have  you 
been  since  our  meeting  on  the  Hudson  ': " 

"  Quite  well !  And  your  father,  how  is 
he?" 

Captain  Vernon  answered  this  and  the 
torrent  of  questions  that  poured  out  upon 
him  ;  and,  at  length,  was  left  to  recline  un- 
der the  shade  of  the  Colonel's  shelter,  while 
that  officer  wrote  some  letters  which  were 
to  be  sent  off  at  one  o'clock. 

A  few  minutes  of  solitude  and  Vernon 
had  a  visitor — Corporal  John  Morrisson  of 
Captain  Richardson's  company. 

"  Why,  Roland !  I'm  proud  to  shake 
your  hand,  my  boy — proud  as  a  mare  of  her 
first  colt ! " 

"  Delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Morrisson.  I 
hope  you  are  pleased  with  the  service  ?  " 

"  Corporal,  not  Mister,  if  you  please. 
That's  my  title  now  !  " 

"  Ah  !  beg  pardon !  But  you  don't  an- 
swer my  inquiry." 

"  Well  Roland,  I  can't  say  that  I'm  in  ec- 
stasies over  my  soldiering  experiences — es- 
pecially since  I've  found  the  real  meaning 
of  Camp  of  Instruction.  I'd  rather  be  back 
in  C town  !  " 

"^Y  hat's  the  matter,  Coeporal?  In 
what  particular  have  you  been  deceived  ?  "' 

"  Not  exactly  deceived,  Roland — but  en- 
lightened !  I  didn't  know  any  more  about 
a  Camp  of  Instruction  when  I  left  home 
than  a  cross-cut  saw  knows  of  metaphysics 
— but  I'm  posted  now  !  " 

And  what  has  your  experience  taught 
you,  Cori)oral  ?  " 

Vernon  noticed  the  quizzical  expression 
of  Morrisson's  face,  and  expected  one  of 
his  extravagances. 

"  AVhy  it's  taught  me  just  this that 

a  Camp  of  Instructioii  is  a  place  where  a 
large  body  of  men,  all  having  natural  feel- 
ings and  affijctions  and  beset  with  natural 
fears,  are  cooped  within  a  guard  line,  kept 
out  of  their  usual  whisky  supplies,  trotted 
in  the  broiling  sun,  drilled  in  the  rain, 
double  quicked  all  the  time  by  lazy  Lieu- 
tenants who  sit  still  and  give  their  orders 
from  the  centre  of  the  jparade  ground,  Hep ! 


DOLORES. 


57 


hep !  licp !  until  the  whole  of  the  batch 
are  educated  not  to  care  a  continental 
damn  whether  they  live  or  die,  survive 
or  perish — a  place  from  which  men  are 
sent  to  battle  fields  to  be  killed  like  sheep. 
But  even  this  is  a  release  from  suffering. 
A  Camp  of  Instruction's  a  barbarous  place, 
Eoland  ! " 

So  saying,  Corporal  Morrisson  departed 
to  attend  roll  call. 


CHAPTER  IL 

The  Company  of  Captain  Richardson, 
of  which  Paul  Adams  was  a  Lieutenant, 
left  at  half  past  one  o'clock  to  join  the 
regiment  of  Col.  Hill,  which  was  in  process 
of  organization  at  Raleigh.  Paul,  although 
he  desired  to  continue  in  his  position  of 
Adjutant  to  Colonel  Ashe,  was  compelled 
to  leave  Camp  Winslow  with  his  company  ; 
and,  Avith  it,  after  joining  the  Regiment, 
went  to  Virginia,  upon  its  reception  of  an 
order  to  proceed  to  Yorktown,  and  reported 
to  Colonel  Magrudi'r. 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Ashe  received  his 
full  quota  of  companies  and  commenced 
preparing  for  active  service.  Dr.  Effing- 
ham of  C town  was  induced  to  accept 

the  ofBce  of  Surgeon,  and  Jock  Wright, 
who  was  a  kinsman  of  Colonel  Ashe,  was 
tendered  the  pei*manent  Adjutancy. 

Vernon  studied  earnestly  in  the  interval 
between  his  arrival  at  Camp  Winslow  and 

the   departure  of  the    F th   Regiment 

for  the  scene  of  action,  and  soon  acquired 
familiarity  with  Jommini,  Hardee,  and  the 
Army  Regulations,  giving  decided  indica- 
tions of  a  promising  military  career. 

Vernon's  company  was  officered  by  men 
of  his  own  selection,  its  members  having 
agreed  to  ratify  all  the  nominations  of  the 
Captain  in  return  for  his  liberality  in  uni- 
forming, and  equipping  it  at  his  own  ex- 
pense. Consequently  it  was  well  drilled, 
well  disciplined,  and  prepared  for  cam- 
paigning. 

While  the  F th  Regiment  remained 

at  Camp  Winslow  drilling  and  getting 
ready  for  active  service,  the  First  Regiment 


fought  the  battle  of  Bethel,  and  gave  an 
example  of  valor  to  the  rest  of  the  Southern 
troops,  electrifying  the  whole  country  with 
the  brilliant  achievements  of  its  prowess. 

Colonel  Ashe  and  Vernon  were  disheart- 
ened upon  the  reception  of  the  news  of 
this  victory,  as  it  was  in  their  opinions 
likely  to  terminate  the  war  and  prevent 
them  from  a  participation  in  its  danger 
and  glory. 

In  a  few  days,  however,  this  regret  was 
banished.     About    the    loth  of    July,   the 

F th  Regiment  received  orders  to  join 

General  Beauregard,  who  was  then  sta- 
tioned near  Fairfax  Court  House  with  a 
small  but  growing  army  ;  and  with  happy 
hearts,  panting  to  be  among  the  foremost 
in  the  fight,  they  jsassed  through  Rich- 
mond, and  reached  Manassas  Junction  on 
the  afternoon  of  Friday,  July  19th,  the  day 
after  Longstreet,  supporting  the  Washing- 
ton Artillery,  repulsed  the  first  onward 
movement  of  McDowell. 

When  the  F th  Regiment  got  to  the 

Bull  Run,  General  Beauregard  was  antici- 
pating an  attack,  and  had  his  force  dis- 
posed for  battle.  Ewell's  right  rested  at 
Union  Mills,  Longstreet's  right  joined  his 
left,  and  extended  towards  Stonebridge, 
covering  SfitcheH's  and  Blackburn's  f  jrds, 
while  Cocke  and  Evans  held  tlie  IcA  with 
other  troops  from  tbe  Siienandoah  sent 
down  by  Johnston.  Bonham  was  in  ad- 
vance between  Union  Mills  and  Centreville, 
ready  to  fall  back  on  Ewell's  right,  or  to 
press  forward  in  assault  as  the  wisdom  of 
the  great  commander  might  determine  to 
be  best. 

Johnston  was  in  consultation  with 
Beauregard  all  night  long ;  and  it  was 
nearly  dawn  when  they  received  reliable 
intelligence  of  the  movements  of  the  Fede- 
ral Captain,  who  Avas  massing  his  troops  on 
the  turnpike  that  leads  from  Centreville 
to  \^^arrenton  across  the  Stonebridge,  with 
the  evident  purpose  of  turning  Beaure- 
gard's left,  having  been  convinced  of  the 
impregnability  of  the  centre  and  of  the 
impossibility  of  making  a  successful  as- 
sault on  the  right. 

In  a  moment  after  the  reception  of  this 
information,  Beauregard  suggested,  and 
Johnston  acquiesced  in  a  plan  of  defence, 
which  was  at  once  simple  and  feasible.     As 


58 


DOLORES. 


soon  as  McDowell  cotamenccd  the  attack  on 
tho  left,  Ewell,  Bonham  and  Longstrcet 
were  to  be  pushed  forward  to  attack  in  left 
and  rear  at  CentreviUe,  and  to  cut  the  Fed- 
eral army  to  pieces.  These  brigade  com- 
manders were  cautioned  to  be  ready  for  this 
movement,  and  then  all  waited  in  anxious 
silence  for  the  break  of  day  when  the  battle 
would  assuredly  begin. 

The  F th  Ilegiment  was  assigned  to 

Gcnl.  Longstreet's  brigade,  immediately 
after  its  arrival  at  JIanassas,  and  with  the 
other  troops  of  that  command  prepared  for 
the  imminent  fight. 

Heintzelman  and  Hunter,  of  the  Federal 
army,  meanwhile,  marcfied  for  Sudley  Ford, 
crossed  the  run,  and,  with  a  column  of  many 
thousand  men,  crept  slowly  into  position  in 
Evans'  rear. 

The  attack  commenced  by  a  demonstra- 
tion in  front  of  Evans,  at  Stonebridge  ;  and 
while  that  brave  old  hero  stood  panting  for 
the  pounce  upon  him  which  he  fully  ex- 
pected, and  listened  unsuspiciously  to  the 
thundering  artillery  immediately  before  his 
lines,  the  force  from  Sudley  was  heralded 
by  a  cavalryman  retreating  before  its  ap 
proach. 

This  was  about  eight  or  nine  o'clock. 
Genl.  Evans  was  surprised,  but  could  not 
be  thrown  off  his  guard,  and  without  hesi- 
tating changed  front,  hurried  forward  to  a 
position  west  of  the  Stone  House  on  the 
Brentsville- Sudley  road,  where  he  encoun- 
tered the  lines  of  Hunter  in  a  sharp  and  fu- 
rious wrestle. 

The  battle  raged  furiously  noAv.  For 
eight  miles  the  heights  on  the  north  bank 
of  Bull  Run  were  crowned  with  batteries ; 
and  froiu  these  a  harmless  but  boisterous 
fire  was  poured. 

The  time  for  the  execution  of  Beaure- 
gard's plan  now.  came.  Orderlies  were 
dispatched  —  it  being  between  eight  and 
nine  o'clock — to  Longstreet,  Bonham  and 
Ewell,  with  directions  for  them  to  be  in 
waiting  for  the  signal  of  assault. 

Longstreet  was  commanded  to  throw  his 
brigade  across  Bull  Run,  at  Mitchell's  Ford, 
to  confront  Sprague's  Rhode  Island  Battery, 
to  charge  and  capture  this,  and  turn  it  upon 
the  rear  of  McDowell's  main  force.  This 
was  to  be  done  as  soon  as  the  guns  of  Bou- 

Those  brigades 


ham   and  Ewell  opened. 


were  to  receive  an  order  of  attack  directly 
from  Genl.  Beauregard.  And  for  this  the 
whole  right  wal  ted — oniy  Longstreet  moved 
forward  into  attacKing  position. 

When  he  received  Genl.  beaurt^drd's 
instructions,  Genl.  Longstrwet  ruSe  up  to 

Col.  Aslie,  of  the  F t'u  Kegiinent,  and 

requested  him  to  detail  his  most  reliable 
officer  for  hazardous  duty. 

"Captain  Vernon!"  cried  Col.  Ashe. 
"  Captain  Vernon  report  immediately  to 
Genl.  Longstreet." 

Obeying,  Captain  Vernon  was  directed  to 
select  a  body-guard  from  his  company,  and 
with  them  to  cross  the  ford,  climb  the  hill 
in  front,  reconnoitre  the  enemy's  position, 
ascertain  the  best  point  of  attack,  and  choose 
the  best  route  to  the  battery  in  front. 

V/nile  Roland  was  making  this  recon- 
noissance,  Longstreet  prepared  his  men  to 
move  forward,  ever  and  anon  looking  to- 
wards the  spot  where  the  young  officer  had 
disappeared. 

Fifteen  minutes — twenty  minutes — twen- 
ty-five minutes  glided  by,  and  still  Vernon 
did  not  return.     Thirty  minutes 

" There  he  comes  !  "  exclaimed  an 

aide. 

"  AVell,  Captain  ?  "  was  the  quick  inter- 
rogatory of  the  General. 

"  All  right,  sir ! "  was  the  response. 
"  Just  behind  the  hUl  there  is  a  break  in 
the  plateau  ;  then  a  valley  guarded  by  an- 
other hill ;  a  hundred  yards  further,  on  a 
higher  eminence,  the  battery  is  located. 
From  the  second  hill  you  can  charge  glori- 
ously. To  get  to  it,  with  least  exposure, 
the  ravine,  which  leads  from  the  outer  edge 
of  the  woods  that  overlook  our  present  po- 
sition to  Avithin  fifty  yards  of  its  base,  must 
be  followed.  With  the  exception  of  that 
interval,  between  raAine  and  hill,  we  will 
have  cover ;  but  for  fifty  yards  we  will 
catch  a  scorching  fire.  There  is  no  better 
approach !  " 

"  You  must  be  our  guide  !  Move  forward 
by  the  right  flank,  Colonel,  and  follow  Cap- 
tain Vernon." 

The  ford  was  crossed,  the  hill  was  as- 
cended, the  ravine  was  followed,  and  then 
the  head  of  the  brigade  pushed  out  into  the 
fifty  yards  of  clear  ground  that  separated 
the  troops  from  security. 

As  the  line  debouched  the  enemy  opened 


DOLORES. 


59 


a  fearful  enfilade  fire,  and  rendered  it  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  press  on  rapidly,  or  to 
retire.     Else  slaughter  was  certain. 

Yonder  was  protection,  and  a  natural 
stronghold  in  wliich  to  form  the  attacking 
line.  The  cover  of  the  little  hill  must  be 
gained. 

Col.  Ashe's  regiment  dashed  ahead,  guided 
by  Vernon,  but  the  Federal  artillerists 
hurled  grape  into  its  ranks,  and  cut  them 
down,  volley  after  volley.  The  wounded 
wailed  piteously ;  the  dying  fell  heavily  to 
the  ground  and  groaned  in  iigony. 

The  guide  pressed  on  undauntedly,  and 
behind  him  followed  the  serpentine  files. 

Crash !  crash  !  crash  !  The  regiment  is 
torn  with  cannister.  It  staggers.  It  halts. 
A  few  men  break — the  rest  are  thrown  into 
confusion.     They  are  panic-stricken ! 

Vernon  looked  back  at  this  moment  and 
saw  the  disgraceful  disorder.  Col.  Ashe 
was  endeavoring  to  rally  his  command  and 
Genl.  Longstreet  was  assisting. 

Out  leapt  the  sword  that  had  gleamed  so 
brightly  at  Preston  Pans — the  sword  of 
Louis  Vernon — the  sword  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation.  High  leapt 
the  warrior  heart  of  the  Vernon  and  the 
Leigh.  Loud  rang  the  voice  of  the  brave 
descendant  of  a  brave  race — rang  a  clear 
piercing  note  of  inspiration  and  encourage- 
ment. 

"  Back  to  your  places,  men  !  Press 
forward  !  to  advance  is  security,  to 
retreat  is  ruin  !    forward  !  " 

And  so  Roland  steadied  the  quivering 
ranks ;  so  he  rallied  the  flying ;  so  made 
the  faltering  brave. 

Then,  as  before,  they  moved  calmly  on- 
ward, and,  filling  up  the  gaps  that  death 
had  made  in  their  files,  closed  up  to  their 
leader,  found  the  sought-for  safety  behind 
the  brow  of  the  gained  hill. 

The  hilt  of  Vernon's  sword  remained  in 
his  grasp,  but  the  blade  of  the  Damascus 
had  been  cut  in  twain  by  a  shot. 

"  Right   valiantly  done,  Captain  !     Ah  ! 
your  sword  gone  ?    You  shall  have  mine !  " 

Saying  this,  Genl.  Longstreet  turned  to 
an  orderly,  and  called  for  another  sabre, 
lianding  the  youthful  warrior  the  magnifi- 
cent blade  which  he  had  been  wearing. 

"  Wear  this !  and  I'll  tell  the  world  how 
you  won  it  1 " 


Secure  in  this  position,  Longstreet  waited, 
fretting  and  impatient,  for  the  signal  guns 
of  Ewell  and  Bonliam — waited  in  vain,  un- 
til afternoon,  when  he  received  information 
of  the  unfortunate  miscarriage  of  the  order 
for  attack  which  Beauregard  forwarded, 
and,  with  this  intelligence,  instructions  to 
retire. 

But  how  had  the  battle  gone  on  the  left  ? 

While  Evans  grappled  with  Hunter,  the 
force  of  Genl.  Keys  crossed  at  the  Red 
House  Ford,  and,  with  the  large  column  at 
Stonebridge,  closed  in  upon  him.  Still  the 
brave  South  Carolinian,  followed  with  his 
eight  hundred  men  and  two  gims,  struggled 
on  desperately  with  the  thirty  thousand  in- 
fantry concentrating  their  attack  upon  his 
line  ;  and,  although  driven  back,  at  last,  he 
continued  to  riddle  them  with  his  well  di- 
rected fire. 

At  the  sublime  juncture.  Bee  and  Bartow, 
with  four  thousand  fresh  troops,  descended 
rapidly  to  reinforce  the  fragment  of  the  no- 
ble brigade  of  Evans,  now  literally  cut  to 
pieces. 

Jackson,  Hampton,  Cocke  and  others,  be- 
came engaged  almost  simultaneously,  and 
then  the  fierce  conflict  waxed  terribly  grand 
in  its  fury. 

Then  Johnston  and  Beauregard,  wooed 
by  the  sublimity  of  the  storm,  came  tearing 
at  a  headlong  gallop  right  into  the  heart 
of  the  battle.  They  took  the  colors  of  the 
regiments  and  in  the  dim  light  of  the  blaz- 
ing muskets  they  could  be  seen  through  the 
smoke  of  the  hotly  contested  field  leading 
their  men  to  meet  shock  with  shock — their 
lives  thrown  in  to  turn  the  scale  of  vic- 
tory ! 

Advantages  were  won :  others  were  lost. 

The  crisis  of  the  conflict  was  reached — 
a  single  company's  strength  would  have 
turned  the  result  either  way. 

The  two  commanders — each  with  a  bat- 
tle flag  in  his  grasp — Beauregard  and 
Johnston  were  in  the  midst  of  the  tumul- 
tuous roar  of  the  engagement's  vortex  ; 
but  at  the  same  moment  they  discovered 
their  peril  and  the  only  remedy — the  only 
hope.     They  acted  energetically. 

Each  led  a  brigade  to  the  attack  ;  oacli 
hurled  his  followers  fiercely  against  the 
lines  of  the  foe  ;  each  by  dint  of  glorious 
example  made  his  little  cohort  cut  its  way 


60 


DOLORES. 


through  the  Federal  centre.  And  their 
army  was  saved  ;  their  laurels — immortal 
laurels — won  ! 

McDowell's  forces  were  quickly  disordered, 
and  soon  went  flying  from  the  field  with 
tlie  yelling  Confederates  at  their  heels. 
Again  they  were  re-formed,  and  marshalled 
in  a  semi-circle  along  the  ridge  in  rear  of 
the  Stone  House. 

But  brave  old  Jubal  Early  fell  savagely 
upon  the  right,  Avhile  Kirby  Smith,  just 
arrived  upon  the  scene,  hurled  his  entire 
force  upon  them  in  front,  and  drove  them, 
routed,  back  upon  C'entreville. 

Then  came  the  Panic!  This  rushing 
maf^s  of  human  Ix'ing?,  scattering  in  every 
direction,  \%-ith  shell  crashing,  and  tearing 
them,  and  their  own  cavalry  trampling 
upon  them,  their  own  artillery  and  wagons 
crushing  them  as  they  fell ;  throwing  away 
guns,  equipments,  accoutrements,  every- 
thing, they  ran  for  life,  madly,  wildly,  un- 
til they  reached  the  shelter  of  their  fortifica- 
tions around  Alexandria  and  Washington. 

While  this  disgraceful  flight  was  being 
enacted  by  the  baffled  subjugators,  Captain 
Vernon,  uniting  with  his  fellows  of  the 
successful  army,  heartily  shouted  the  glad 
refrain  of.  Victory  !  as  it  came  leap- 
ing from  tongue  to  tongue,  and  was  passed 
with  j  ubilant  cheers  from  right  to  left  of 
the  triumphant  lines. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

The  day  after  the  battle  Vernon  wrote 
to  Alice  and  informed  her  of  his  safety  ; 
but  it  was  at  least  ten  days  after  the  news 

of  the  victory  reached   C town   before 

this  messenger  of  comfort  reached  the 
agonized  wife. 

She  was  living  in  a  cottage  in  the  town 
which  she  inherited  from  her  father,  and 
her  mother  Mrs.  Adams  was  with  her  to 
keep  her  company  during  the  absence  of 
Eoland. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Adams  died  early  in 
June,  and  the  barrier  to  a  good  feeling  be- 
tween Alice's  mother  and  husband  was  re- 
moved. 


They  were  together  in  this  cottage— 
mother  and  daughter — wlien  the  news  of 
the  great  carnage  at  Bull  Run  and  Manas- 
sas came.  Alice  was  immediately  plunged 
into  a  stupor  of  grief  and  despair,  in  which 
condition  she  remained  until  the  reception 
of  her  husljand's  letter,  assuring  her  of  his 
health  and  miraculous  escape  from  the  per- 
ils through  which  he  had  passed.  Then 
the  wife  was  made  very  happy  and  tears 
were  instantly  converted  into  smiles,  sor- 
rowing and  apprehension  into  joy  and  grati- 
tude. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Captain  Ver- 
non recruited  his  company  at  his  own  in- 
dividual cost.  Now  that  he  had  entered 
the  service,  he  concluded  to  see  what  he 
could  do  towards  ameliorating  the  condi- 
tion of  the  wives,  children,  and  other  de- 
pendents of  these  men  who  were  induced 
to  serve  their  country  through  his  persua- 
sions. In  order  to  provide  for  their  wants, 
and  to  render  them  comfortable,  he  deter- 
mined to  devote  the  larger  part  of  his  in- 
come to  the  purchase  of  supplies  and  other 
necessary  things  to  assitre  them  a  comfort- 
able subsistence  during  the  absence  of  their 
natural  guardians  and  protectors.  From 
various  sources  Vernon  could  command  an 
income  of  about  twenty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars, four-fifths  of  which  he  could  readily 
spare  to  further  this  benevolent  end. 

Thinking  wisely  that  his  wife  would  bear 
the  separation,  which  his  service  in  the 
army  rendered  necessary,  with  a  more  pa- 
tient resignation,  if  she  had  some  ab- 
sorbing and  responsible  duty  devolving 
ttpon  her  for  her  performance ;  and,  rely- 
ing upon  her  discretion  and  unselfish  pa- 
triotism, he  committed  to  her  the  labor  of 
superintending  the  distribution  of  the 
stores  which  he  provided  for  the  depend- 
ents on  his  bounty. 

This  was  a  work  of  no  small  importance, 
and  required  a  very  considerable  energy 
and  business  capacity.  But  Vernon's  confi- 
dence in  his  wife's  ability  to  discharge  the 
duty  satisfactorily  was  not  misplaced.  She 
divided  the  families  entitled  to  share  in  this 
distribution  into  six  classes,  each  of  which 
had  a  particular  day  of  the  week  set  apart 
for  its  applications  for  relief. 

The  yard  of  the  little  cottage,  in  which 
Alice  and  Mrs.  Adams  resided,  swarmed 


DOLOEES. 


61 


every  forenoon  with  applicants  for  orders 
on  Mr.  Peterson,  the  storekeeper  employed 
by  Vernon  to  issue  the  supplies  for  which 
his  wife  gave  requisitions. 

Vernon's  bounty  was  not  confined  to 
those  who  had  a  show  of  claim  upon  him 
by  reason  of  connection  with  members  of 
his  company  ;  but  many  others,  needy  and 
sulFering,  were  often  saved  from  dis-truss 
by  his  generosity.  And  this  fact,  while 
it  occasioned  Alice  a  greater  inconvenience, 
and  taxed,  to  their  utmost  tension,  her  pow- 
ers of  endurance  and  grace  of  patience, 
served  to  enliven  the  monotony  of  her  life 
with  occasional  phases  of  humor,  and  to 
give  her  a  very  careful  instruction  in  the 
great  science  of  human  nature. 

A  motley  mixture  was  that  crowd  of  vul- 
gar and  debased  humanity  that  came 
thronging  around  this  pure,  refined,  and 
noble  Christian  woman  every  day,  looking 
up  to  her  for  the  satisfaction  of  their  small 
but  pressing  wants. 

What  lack  of  sympathy  for  a  common 
poverty  they  displayed  !  What  petty  grov- 
eling jealousy,  what  rancorous  hatred  they 
nursed  in  their  envious  breasts  ! 

How  they  maligned  each  other  to  win,  as 
they  hoped,  the  especial  fsivor  of  their  ben- 
efactress !  How  they  lied  and  cheated ! 
How  they  quarrelled  and  fought  and  cursed 
among  themselves  !  And  then  how  they 
attempted  to  brow-beat  the  charitable  wo- 
man who  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  slanders 
of  their  companions  in  misery ! 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  an  ad- 
equate idea  of  the  revolting  scenes  of  de- 
pravity and  ingratitude,  of  diurnal  recur- 
rence, which  were  constantly  presented  to 
Alice's  contemplation. 

She  was  disgusted,  but  repressed  the 
temptation  to  abandon  the  philanthropic 
work  which  she  had  undertaken.  She  re- 
membered that  it  was  a  holy  labor,  one  that 
she  was  qualified  to  perform  ;  and,  besides, 
it  was  one  of  the  sweetly  humane  precepts 
of  her  philosophy,  that, 

CirAIlITY  SH0U1,D  BE  BLDS'D  TO  EVERY- 
THING SAVE  Want  ! 

So  Alice  continued  her  labors  of  charity 
and  patriotism,  whiling  away  the  period  of 
gloom  that  elapsed  between  her  husband's 
parting  kiss  and  the  fond  embrace  of  his 
return      So   she  filled   up  many  hours  of 


weariness  and  longing  between  the  first  of 
May  and  the  middle  of  November. 

Among  others  of  her  pensioners  was  a 
Mrs.  Jacobs,  the  wife  of  a  noncommis- 
sioned ofiacer  of  Vernon's  company.  Mrs. 
Jacobs  was  a  coarse  looking  woman,  and  of 
such  voluble  tongue  that  x\lice  always  dis- 
liked to  see  her  coming  into  the  yard. 

One  morning  in  tlie  latter  part  of  Octo- 
ber, however,  this  pest  presented  herself  at 
the  door  of  the  sitting-room  in  whicli  Alice 
sat  writing  a  letter.  She  had  an  infant  at 
her  breast,  which  every  now  and  then 
raised  its  head  and  uttered  a  feeble  wail. 
With  a  courtesy  to  the  mistress  of  tlie 
comfortable  apartment  in  which  she  stootl, 
Mrs.  Jacobs  advanced  and  in  her  extended 
hand  held  out  a  letter  addressed  in  a  famil- 
iar handwriting. 

"  Mr.  Peterson  asked  me,  as  how  I  was  a 
coming  over  here,  to  please  to  deliver  this 
letter,  as  which  he  are  of  the  opinion  that 
it  comed  from  the  Captain,"  said  Mrs.  Ja- 
cobs with  a  fl  jurish.  "  I  do  trust  in  God 
that  it  is ;  for  I  haint  heard  from  Bill  in  a 
month,  and  I  hope  ef  he's  able  he'll  send  a 
message  by  sich  an  opportunity.  Blessed 
Lord !  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

Alice's  eye  sparkled  with  pleasure  ;  her 
heart  bounded  with  delight ;  and  there  she 
was  dancing  for  dear  life,  not  paying  the 
slightest  attention  to  her  guest. 

Mrs.  Jacobs,  who,  like  all  of  her  class, 
poor,  simple  souls  !  thought  that  the  Cap- 
tain could  not  write  a  letter  to  his  wife 
Avithout  giving  a  full  history  or  the  condi- 
tion of  all  the  soldiers  in  his  command,  had 
been  standing  in  expectation  of  hearing 
the  news  from  her  husband,  looked  blank 
with  amazement  when  she  saw  Alice  make 
a  spring  and  commencing  a  wild  dance  of 

joy- 

"  What's  the  matter,  ma'am  ?  "  she  con- 
tinued, seeing  that  the  dance  grew  faster 
and  more  furious.  "  Is  the  Cap'en  agwine 
to  give  Bill  a  furlough  ? " 

The  old  ignoramus  did  not  know  what  a 
furlough  was ;  but  she  had  an  indistinct 
idea  that  it  was  something  which  brought 
people's  liusbands  home  from  the  army. 

Alice  did  not  smile  at  the  woman's  sim- 
plicity. She  Avas  too  fall  of  sweet  thoughts, 
and  only  lavished  a  shower  of  kisses  on  tlie 
pages  of  the  letter  in  reply. 


62 


DOLORES. 


"  Good  Gracious  !  I  do  believe  Miss  Ver- 
nons  is  ag^^ine  crazy.  Can't  you  answer  a 
civil  question,  ma"am  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  ]Mrs.  Jacobs  !  Not  your  hus- 
band, but  mine,  is  to  have  a  furlough." 

Then  seeing  the  tears  of  disappointment 
rising  in  the  otlier's  eyes,  she  added  in  a 
gentle  and  consoling  tone, 

"  But  don't  you  be  distressed  !  I'll  ask 
him  to  let  Mr.  Jacobs  come  when  he  goes 
back.  I  wonder  how  long  Roland's  fur- 
lough is  ? — for  a  year,  I  hope  !  " 

"May  God  bless  ye,  honey!  Will  you 
ask  him  ?    Do  you  declare  you  will  ?  " 

And  the  poor  old  creature  wept  with  de- 
light ;  and  then  wiped  her  dirty  tear-stained 
cheeks  with  a  ragged  handkerchief. 

Roland  wrote  that  his  regiment  was  just 
going  into  winter  quarters  at  Centrcville, 
and  that  he  would  be  home  on  a  leave  of 
absence  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  weeks. 

Mrs.  Adams  was  informed  by  her  daugh- 
ter of  the  happiness  to  which  she  looked 
forward,  and  a  message  was  sent  out  to 
Rushbrook  to  inform  the  family  there  of 
the  intended  visit.  And  there  were  sounds 
of  preparation  to  receive  the  gallant  soldier 
with  fitting  festivities. 

The  labor  of  attending  to  the  wants  of 
the  soldiers'  wives  was  temporally  trans- 
ferred to  Mrs.  Adams ;  and  Alice  was  left 
with  little  else  to  do  than  to  entertain  her 
husband  upon  his  arrival. 


CHAPTER  rV". 

On  the  7th  of  November  Captain  Vernon 
reached  home. 

Who  can  describe  such  a  meeting  as  his 
with  Alice  ?  Or  the  fondness  of  the  wel- 
come which  he  received  ? 

Who  can  adequately  portray  the  passion- 
ate joy  with  which  he  caught  the  happy 
wife  in  his  strong  arms,  and  the  fervor  of 
impetuous  love,  so  prodigal  of  its  burning 
kisses  ? 

Pass  over  the  day  and  night  of  his  re- 
turn !  Be  not  inquisitive  as  to  the  manner 
in  which  connubial  bliss  celebrates  its 
gladdest  rites  I 


It  were  sacrilege  to  unveil  the  mysteries 
of  wedded  affection,  or  to  hearken  to  the 
cries  of  the  curious  crowd  that  stands  out- 
side the  temple  of  Venus  bogging  admission 
into  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  this  mighty 
shrine.     'Twere  a  crime. 

This  pen  must  decline  such  a  task  ! 

Vernon's  visit  was  an  extremely  delight- 
ful one  in  every  particular.  His  wife's  mind 
was  devoted  to  the  business  of  providing 
him  entertainment,  and  he  enjoyed,  or  pre- 
tended to  enjoy  everything  that  she  sug- 
gested with  the  greatest  relish.  And  so, 
striving  to  please  and  to  be  pleased,  his 
time  passed  very  pleasantly — the  four 
weeks  of  his  stay  at  home,  seeming  after 
his  return  to  the  army,  more  like  a  deli- 
cious dream  than  the  remembrance  of  real 
joys. 

Mrs.  Jacobs  did  not  overlook  the  Cap- 
tain's  presence  in  C town  ;  and  called 

upon  the  young  officer,  thinking,  quite 
shrewdly,  that  it  would  be  quite  as  well  to 
remind  the  wife  of  her  promise,  under  the 
pretense  of  tendering  respect  to  the  hus- 
band. 

"  Well,  Miss  Vrt-nons,"  said  the  sly  crea- 
ture, having  dropped  in  one  morning,  and 
found  the  Captain  and  his  wife  in  a  capital 
humor,  "  God  knows  I  wishes  you  much 
joy  now  that  you've  got  your  husband  back. 
Please  the  Lord,  I  'spects  it  will  be  a  teni- 
ble  long  time  afore  I'll  see  Bill  any  more." 

"I  hope  not.  Mrs.  Jacobs,"  said  Alice  in 
a  tone  of  sympathy.  "  The  war  will  not 
last  long,  I  trust  ;  and,  if  it  does,  he  can 
get  a  leave." 

"  Oh !  Then  you've  spoke  to  the  Cap'en  ? 
That's  a  darling,  as  I  always  said  you 
was ! " 

She  burst  into  crocodile  tears,  and  turned 
to  Roland. 

"  And  you  are  agwine  to  let  Bill  come, 
when  you  goes  back,  Cap'en  ?  Sence  /  heard 
from  Polly  Piuer,  that  Josh  Kinsaul  has 
died  the  day  after  you  left  Manassey ;  I'd 
dun  give  up  all  hope  of  ever  seein  my  poor 
Bill  anymore — I  had " 

And  she  blubbered  distressingly. 

Captain  Vernon  undertook  to  comfort 
her,  and  was  soon  rewarded  for  his  efforts 
by  a  cheerful  smile  from  Corporal  Jacobs' 
wife,  as  she  returned  to  the  inquiry, 

"  Is  you  agwine  to  let  Bill  come  ? " 


DOLORES. 


63 


"Yes.  I'll  try  to  get  him  a  furlough. 
But  is  Josh  Kinsaul  dead  ?  He  was  per- 
fectly well  when  I  left  camp.  Do  you  know 
what  he  died  of,  Mrs.  Jacobs  1 " 

"  Well  they  do  say — Polly  Finer  got  it  in 
her  letter,  and  so  did  Nancy  Bente — that 
Josh  are  really  dead ;  and  now  that  I  re- 
members correctly,  Polly  said  that  her  old 
man  said  that  Josh  died  of  a  sudden." 

The  muscles  of  the  Captain's  mouth  gave 
a  twitch,  and  there  was  a  faint  sound  of  a 
suppressed  titter  at  his  elbow. 

Mrs.  Jacobs  having  secured  the  pledge  of 
Captain  Vernon  that  his  influence  would 
be  used  to  get  her  husband  home  for  a 
short  while,  seized  the  first  opportunity  to 
effect  a  retirement,  much  to  the  relief  of 
Roland  and  his  wife. 

It  was  not  long  after  Vernon's  return  to 

C town  that  the  announcement   came 

that  the  Company  from  that  place,  which 
had  fought  gallantly  at  Bethel — and  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  in  November,  1861, 
the  war  had  been  in  progress  so  short  a 
time,  and  so  few  battles  had  been  fought, 
that  Bethel  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
engagements  of  the  strtfggle — was  on  its 
way  home. 

Tills  intelligence  was  rapidly  and  gen- 
erally disseminated,  and  the  citizens  of  the 
town  and  its  vicinity  united  immediately 
m  making  fit  preparations  for  its  distin- 
guished Avelcome. 

Garlands  were  woven  to  deck  the  brows 
of  the  returning  heroes  ;  banners,  with  ap- 
propriate inscriptions,  were  fashioned  and 
swung  across  all  of  the  principal  streets ; 
the  Town  Hall  was  put  in  order,  and  all 
the  arrangements  for  a  grand  illumination 
(as  the  arrival  of  the  boat  which  was  to 
bring  the  troops  would,  in  all  probability, 
be  delayed  until  after  nightfall),  were  made, 
Vernon,  rising  above  all  little  jealousies,  par- 
ticipating very  heartily  in  the  work  of  pre- 
paration, and  accepting  an  invitation  to  de- 
liver the  reception  speech  in  behalf  of  the 
citizens. 

The  night  of  the  fifteenth  of  November 
came.  The  steamer  Magnolia  reached  the 
wharf  at  eight  o'clock,  amid  the  cheers  of 
hundreds  of  men,  women  and  children  who 
had  repaired  to  the  river  bank  to  meet  the 
returning  soldiers.  The  troops  broke  ranks, 
and  sprang  upon  the  shore,  as  soon  as  the 


prow  of  the  steamer  touched  the  wharf; 
and  then  followed  a  scene  that  beggars  all 
description. 

Wives  rushed  frantically  into  the  arms  of 
long  absent  husbands  ; "  mothers  caught 
their  boys  in  the  close  embrace  of  love,  and 
fondly  patted  them  on  their  heads  and 
kissed  them  again  and  again  ;  shy  young 
girls,  crying  "  Oh !  brother  ! "  or  "  Oh ! 
father ! "  darted  at  their  sweethearts,  and 
gave  and  received  bliss-stirring  kisses  that 
caused  their  lips  to  tingle  and  burn,  and 
their  hearts  to  beat  madly  with  passion- 
ate yearnings  ;  even  Morrisson — the  crafty 
old  scamp  ! — with  nobody  in  all  that  crowd 
that  he  might  rightfully  kiss,  sloshed  about 
in  the  dark,  and  seized  a  half  hundred  dif- 
ferent young  ladies  in  his  embrace,  and 
before  they  could  recover  from  their  aston- 
ishment, shouting,  "  Oh  !  sister !  "  or  "  Ah ! 
Lucy  !  "  or  "  My  dear  mother  !  "  secured 
his  full  share  of  the  caresses  that  were  so 
plentiful  that  night.  This  scene  of  confu- 
sion at  length  was  brought  to  an  end  by 
the  mandate  of  the  Orderly  Sergeant  : 

"  Fall  in  !     Fall  in  !  " 

When  the  ranks  were  formed,  the  col- 
umn, preceded  by  a  brass  band  that  played 
"  Hi !  Billy  Martin,  Tip  toe— Tip  toe,"  and 
"The  Jay  Bird  Died  of  the  Whooping- 
Cough,"  and  "  Gotten  any  Gooden  Thing," 
and  other  equally  exhilarating  and  soul- 
stirring  martial  airs,  in  platoons,  right  in 
front,  flanked  by  crowds  of  shouting  boys 
and  droves  of  excited  and  delighted  girls, 
mixed  in  a  very  unmilitary  and  democratic 
jumble,  marched  through  the  decorated  and 
illuminated  streets,  now  trailing  arms  to 
pass  under  a  triumphal  arch,  now  cheering 
as  they  were  attracted  by  the  mottoes, 
"  Hail  to  the  Brave  !  "  and  "  Welcome 
Home,  YE  Heroes  of  Bethel  ! "  and  "  The 
Citizen  Soldiery  the  Pride  akd  Pro- 
tection OF  the  People  ! "  —  sentiments 
which  were  applauded  to  the  echo  by  the 
crowd. 

At  length  the  Town  Hall  was  reached. 
Here  the  crowd  of  citizens  was  dense  and 
enthusiastic,  and  received  the  troops  with 
huzzah  after  huzzah. 

All  preliminaries  having  been  arranged, 
Captain  Vernon  stepped  forward  amid  the 
acclamations  of  the  spectators  and  soldiers, 
and  delivered  a  happily  conceived  speech. 


64 


DOLORES. 


wlucli  did  liis  heart  and  head  infinite  credit, 
and  evoked  the  rapturous  ai)i)lause  of  tlie 
listening  multitude. 

Mr  .Morrisson — still  a  Coriwral — had  been 
chosen  by  the  military  to  make  their  re- 
sponse. The  festivities  of  the  evening  had 
an  exhilarating  influence  on  him,  for  he 
was  in  one  of  his  funniest  and  most  ex- 
travagant moods.  How  such  an  effect  was 
produced  by  such  a  cause,  it  is  impossible 
to  divine  unless  on  the  presumption  that 
some  of  the  young  ladies  kissed  by  him  at 
the  landing  had  been  imbibing  rather 
freely. 

"When  Vernon  concluded  his  speech,  the 
Corporal  came  forward  with  a  very  sol- 
dierly strut,  and  bowing  with  an  air  of  the 
greatest  dignity,  commenced  his  speech, 
talking  with  impressive  solemnity  and  in 
deep  sonorous  tones. 

His  first  words  made  an  impression  : 
"  Clad  in  the  habiliments  in  which  I 
dug  trenches  at  Yorktown  ;  accoutred  with 
the  same  belts  and  cartouch-box  that  I 
wore  on  the  memorable  night  my  picket 
guard  was  captured  while  sleeping  serenely 
on  their  posts,  dreaming  of  the  loved  ones 
at  home  ;  armed  with  the  identical  musket 
that  I  laid  down  with  reluctance  to  hold 
Col.  Magruder's  horse  while  the  battle 
raged  at  Bethel ;  flourishing  the  somewhat 
worn  but  highly -treasured  pockethandker- 
chief  with  which  I  dried  the  tears  that  be- 
dewed my  cheeks  when  I  looked  upon  the 
inanimate  form  of  the  unfortunate  mule 
whose  life  was  yielded  up  in  that  engage- 
ment, a  cheerful  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of 
patriotism  ;  I  stand  in  the  midst  of  my 
home  people  unhurt,  unharmed,  and  unin- 
jured, with  a  pean  of  thanksgiraig  for  es- 
cape from  the  dread  perils  of  war — perUs 
that  cost  North  Carolina  the  life  of  the 
brave  Wyatt  on  the  field  of  Bethel — on  my 
lips  ;  and  with  the  reverberations  of  your 
joy  at  my  return  ringing  in  my  ears — stand 
in  your  midst  to  express  for  myself  and  my 
comrades  our  deep  sense  of  gratification  at 
the  kindness  which  has  prompted  this  flat- 
tering reception." 

"  Three  cheers  for  Morrisson !  "  shouted 
an  excited  boy  of  diminutive  proportions, 
whose  soul  was  bursting  with  glorious 
emotions  of  patriotism  ;  but  whose  voice, 
uuforttmately  for  its  strength  and  clearness. 


was  unmistakably  seriously  afflicted  with  a 
disease  known  as  "  goslings,"  peculiar  to 
youths  of  his  age. 

"  Three  times  three  and  a  tiger  !  "  hearti- 
ly responded  the  frantic  crowd,  yelling, 
every  man  of  them,  like  a  pack  of  denizens 
of  the  infernal  regions. 

Morrisson  improved  the  breathing  space 
thus  given  by  pouring  out  a  suspicious- 
looking  liquid  from  a  suspicious-looking 
silver  pitcher  into  a  suspicious-looking  sil- 
ver goblet,  which  he  held  toyingly  in  his 
hand  untU  he  was  suffered  to  proceed. 

Quiet  having  been  restored,  he  raised  the 
goblet — Corporal  Morrisson  was  exceedingly 
polite  and  courteotts  when  glowing  with 
thought  or  whisky — and,  bending  his  tall 
form  gracefully,  with  a  majestic  wave  of 
his  hand,  said,  while  his  red  eyes  sparkled 
merrily  and  his  rubicund  nose  flushed 
brightly, 

"  Fellow  Citizens,  before  continuing  my 
remarks,  I  beg  leave,  on  the  strength  of  our      J 
reunion  with  our  friends,  to  drink  to  the 
very  good  health  of  you  all." 

There  was  another  shout.  Then  a  hun- 
dred cat-cries,  and  a  fight  between  a  little 
negro  and  a  small  white  boy,  in  a  distant 
corner  of  the  Hall — a  disturbance  of  so 
much  insignificance  to  the  orator  that  he 
did  not  halt  in  his  addi-ess  to  let  them  have 
it  out  fairly. 

Owing  to  the  confusion  which  ensued  J 
upon  the  movement  of  the  police  to  make 
a  summary  ejection  of  the  combatants,  the 
final  passages  of  Corporal  Morrisson's  elo- 
quent speech  were  lost  to  his  auditory,  but 
the  satisfaction  of  the  populace  was  attested 
by  resounding  cheers  and  pealing  bursts  of 
acclamation  as  he  took  his  seat. 

Immediately  after  the  dispersion  of  the 
throngs  of  citizens,  the  heroes  of  Bethel 
were  invited  to  partake  of  a  bounteous  re- 
past Avhich  groaned  on  a  hospitable  board, 
loaded  with  tempting  edibles  and  refresh- 
ing drinkables  ;  and  here,  expending  the 
customary  wit  and  jest  of  such  occasions, 
toasting  their  hosts,  and  sweeping  every- 
thing clean,  they  spent  the  night  in  rev- 
elry. 

Lieutenant  Adams,  for  some  reason  un- 
known, came  home  in  a  bad  humor,  and 
did  not  join  in  these  festivities  ;  but  hast- 
ened to  the   Parsonage  where    his    wife 


DOLORES. 


65 


awaited  bis  coming  "with  all  a  loving  wo- 
man's anxiety.  He  received  lier  demon- 
strations of  delight  with  a  gruflFness  that 
chilled  her  buoyancy  and  repressed  her  joy, 
and  gave  her  the  first  cruel,  heartless,  un- 
pitying  repulse  of  her  tenderness  that  she 
had  received  since  her  marriage. 

It  was  far  from  being  a  happy  meeting, 
and  they  moodily  retired  at  an  early  hour 
—he  to  dwell  upon  his  own  thoughts— she 
to  weep  at  his  hardness  and  coldness. 

The  night  had  advanced  far,  when,  in 
response  to  an  abrupt  inquiry  from  her 
husband,  Dolores  answered  with  a  blush  in 
her  very  voice, 

"I  shall  probably  get  through  in  a 
month." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped 
now,"  he  ungraciously  responded;  "but 
it  is  hard  enough  to  provide  for  you,  with- 
out having  the  additional  encumbrance  of 
a  nurse  and  baby.  You  ought  to  have 
known  that  I  didn't  want  any  children 
while  this  infernal  war  lasts." 

"  And,  pray  Paul,  how  could  I  prevent 
it?" 

Three  weeks  passed,  and  Dolores  was 
forced  to  take  to  her  bed.  Her  husband, 
who  should  have  been  rejoiced  at  the  pros- 
pect ■which  her  illness  gave,  instead  of 
Avatching  with  a  brimming,  foaming, 
bumper,  eager  to  drink  to  the  health  of 
the  mother,  and  a  long  life  to  the  heir, 
vented  his  displeasure  at  the  event  in  sour 
looks  and  crosser  words. 

Then  came  the  bright  boy  with  Dolores' 
eyes — came  to  console  for  the  loss  of  a  hus- 
band's love. 

Poor  babe!  Dolores  bent  a  sorrowful 
face,  with  an  appealing  look  for  it  to  die, 
upon  her  child  ;  but  her  supplication  was 
unheeded — and  the  infant  lived. 

Babyhood  does  not  appreciate  grief,  and 
is  not  self-sacrificing ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

Vernon's  furlough  expired  early  in  De- 
cember ;  and   parting  reluctantly  with  his 
wife  he  rejoined  his  command  at  Centreville. 
5 


The  winter  was  spent  in  inactivity ;  and, 

save  an  occasional  picket  tour,  the  F th 

Regiment  had  an  easy  time  until  March. 
Then  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  fell  back 
upon  the  Rappahannock ;  and,  afterwards,  a 
greater  part  of  it  was  transferred  to  the 
Peninsula,  to  support  General  Magruder. 

Here  the  month  of  April  was  consumed 
in  waiting  in  the  Yorktown  trenches — a 
very  disagreeable  phase  of  military  life. 

A  fight  was  anticipated ;  but  tlie  sus- 
pense was  protracted  from  day  to  day  ;  and, 
at  the  close  of  each  successive  week,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  greater  probability  than 
before,  of  a  speedy  termination  of  the 
overwrought  anxiety  of  the  troops. 

When  May  came,  however,  everything 
grew  more  active  and  the  chances  of  a 
battle  doubled. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  of  May, 
Adjutant  Jock  Wright  detailed  Captain 
Vernon's  company  to  relieve  a  company  of 
the  24th  Virginia  Regiment  then  on  picket 
in  front  of  the  fortifications  occupied  by 
Early's  Brigade  of  D.  H.  Hill's  Division ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  informed  the  Cap- 
tain that  he  would  not  be  required  to  exe- 
cute his  instructions  until  sundown  that 
afternoon. 

About  six  o'clock  P.  M.,  Vernon  received 
a  message  from  Colonel  Ashe  to  report  at 
once  at  regimental  headquarters.  The 
Captain  had  already  formed  his  men,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  going  out  to  relieve 
the  picket  when  this  message  was  delivered ; 
but  he  immediately  started  to  obey  the 
Colonel's  summons,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
stood  uncovered  in  the  presence  of  that 
ofiicer. 

"  Ah  I  Captain  !  "  was  the  salutation  of 
Colonel  Ashe.  "  I  sent  for  you  to  say  that 
you  need  not  go  on  picket — the  Virginia 
Company  will  not  be  relieved.  We  re- 
treat from  here  to-night ;  and  it  will  act 
as  a  part  of  the  rear  guard." 

"  And  we  are  to  run  again,  Colonel ! "  he 
exclaimed.     "  I  would  rather  fight  here  !  " 

"  So  would  I,  Vernon— so  would  I !  "  re- 
sponded Colonel  Ashe.  "But  it  is  our 
part  to  obey,  not  to  criticise." 

"  Which  we  all  will  do  submissively — 
but  why  is  this  retreat  ordered  ?  Is  Gene- 
ral Johnston  afraid  of  McClellan  ?  " 

"  You  remember  what  old  Scott  said — 


66 


DOLORES 


Beware  of  Johnston's  retreats  ! '    There's 
something  deep  in  it,  that  we  can't  see." 
"  I  hope  so ;  but  the  men  would  rather 


fight ! 


A  few  hours  later  the  army  of  General 
Johnston  was  on  the  march  for  Williams- 
bm-g.  The  specks  which  had  floated  like 
mists  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon  during 
the  afternoon,  had  scattered  ere  the  night 
set  in,  all  over  the  heavens,  grown  into 
clouds  pregnant  with  rain  ;  and  now,  ahead 
of  the  trembling  legions,  were  these  mas- 
sive banks  of  black,  threatening  storm- 
clouds  out  of  whose  womb,  Avith  pealing 
thunders,  flashing  lightnings  darted,  while 
a  torrent  poured  down  upon  the  earth. 
Behind  came  the  pursuing  foe  closing 
rapidly  upon  the  heels  of  the  retreating 
army.  And  through  the  pelting  storm, 
until  the  skies  cleared  and  the  morning 
star  trembled  in  the  east,  pursuer  and  pur- 
sued i^ressed  forward. 

The  sun  rose  in  splendor  the  next  morn- 
ing— the  rain  having  ceased  just  before 
dawn — and  its  glancing  rays  touching  the 
pendant  drops  on  the  leaves  of  the  forest 
trees  caused  them  to  glisten  brightly. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  F th  Regiment 

halted  beneath  the  shade  of  a  belt  of  moss- 
covered  oaks,  which  grew  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  Old  Dominion's  once  gay  Cap- 
ital. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Captain  Vernon  in  a  pet- 
ulant mood,  as  he  dropped  wearily  upon  the 
ground,  "  I  wish  that  McClellan  would 
overtake  our  trains,  or  so  jeopardize  them 
as  to  force  Joe  Johnston  to  fight  to  save 
them  from  capture.  He  is  so  skillful  in  re- 
treating that  it  is  said  he  has  never  lost  a 
wagon.  Perhaps,  if  one  of  his  trains  should 
be  endangered,  he  would  give  us  a  chance 
to  fight.  I'm  disgusted  with  this  Fabian 
policy.  It  breaks  the  spirits  of  the  men  ; 
it  fosters  discontent ;  and  it  makes  cowards 
of  the  valiant.  Oh  !  for  a  dash  of  Federal 
cavalry  at  Longstreet's  wagons,  which  are 
all  behind ! " 

Jock  Wright  listened  to  his  friend's  out- 
burst in  silence — but,  the  next  minute,  he 
cried, 


"  Hush  !  That  was  surely  a  cannon  1 
By  all  the  Gods  of  Greece,  Roland  Vernon, 
your  wish  is  about  to  be  gratified  !  They're 
fighting  back  yonder  on  the  Yorktown 
road— man  alive,  don't  you  hear  the  boom- 
ing of  the  guns  ? " 

Boom  !     Boom !     Boom  ! 

It  was  so !  Boom !  Boom !  The  can- 
non roared  back  towards  Yorktown. 

"  Captain  Vernon  !  Where  is  Captain 
Vernon?"  shouted  Colonel  Ashe.  And 
then  catching  sight  of  the  young  officer, 
he  cried,  "Get  your  company  under  arms 
at  once.  Captain  !  " 

There  was  ^ghting  to  be  done  without 
doubt ;  but  Vernon  was  up  to  his  word. 
He  went  back  cheerfully  ! 

A  few  muttered  words  of  parting  —  a 
warm  grasp  of  the  hand — and  Captain  Ver- 
non left  Colonel  Ashe  standing  by  the  road- 
side like  a  statue,  watching  him  as  he  made 
his  way  towards  the  town,  on  the  further 
limit  of  which  the  conflict  was  in  progress. 

In  less  than  an  hour,  Vernon  was  mov- 
ing to  and  fro  amid  the  smoke  of  the  en- 
gagement, his  face  flushed  with  excitement, 
and  his  voice  ringing  loudly  above  the  din 
of  the  strife,  as  he  delivered  his  orders  to 
the  infantry  detachment  which  had  been 
sent  under  his  command  to  support  Captain 
Reilly's  battery,  which  was  obstinately 
fighting  the  advance  guard  of  Federal  cav 
airy. 

The  soldier  was  in  his  clement.  His  pas- 
sionate love  of  the  glorious  battle-peril  was 
being  satisfied. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  he  was 
back  at  the  regimental  bivouac,  without 
having  sustained  the  loss  of  a  single  man 
— back,  asleep,  and  dreaming. 

Jock  Wright  shared  his  blanket  that 
night  and  they  slumbered  without  a 
thought  of  the  morrow's  danger,  and  with- 
out a  premonition  of  the  separation  which 
was  so  imminent. 

Ah  !  It  is  a  happy  regulation  of  Nature 
that  we  are  not  permitted  to  peep  into  tho 
future !  We  are  spared  much  distress  that 
the  warning  of  ill  would  occasion  ;  and  es- 
cape the  risk  of  growing  cowardly  by  think- 
in":  of  coming  trials ! 


DOLORES. 


67 


CHAPTER  VI. 

At  an  early  liour  the  following  morning, 
Captain  Vernon  liad  his  company  ready  to 
proceed  on  the  march.  The  sky  was 
gloomy  and  the  lowering  clouds  betokened 
rain  ;  which  was  unfortunate,  as  the  artil- 
lery wagons  and  other  trains  had  already 
passed  through  Williamsburg  and  were 
now  far  on  the  road  to  Richmond.  The 
baggage  wagons  of  Longstreet's  division 
■were  alone  behind. 

A  hard  march  seemed  to  be  in  store  for 
the  half-rested  troops  of  the  Army  of  the 
Peninsula,  for  the  roads,  in  bad  condition 
from  the  rains  of  the  two  nights  before, 
would  be  cut  up  so  badly  that  the  foot 
troops  must  experience  great  impediments 
in  their  progress. 

Notwithstanding  this,  D.  H.  Hill's  di- 
vision, to  which  the  P th  Regiment  was 

now  attached,  being  a  part  of  Barley's  brig- 
ade, was  waiting  by  the  road  to  commence 
the  tramp.  Of  all  the  divisions,  save  Long- 
street's  which  was  behind,  it  alone  was  not 
in  motion. 

About  eight  o'clock  brigade  after  brig- 
ade commenced  pressing  on  in  retreat,  until 
all  were  moving.  But  before  the  column 
had  proceeded  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  a  staff 
officer,  riding  at  full  speed,  came  out  from 
Williamsburg,  inquiring  as  he  gallopped 
for  General  HilL 

He  brought  a  countermand  of  the  order 
to  move  on.  The  enemy  was  pressing 
Longstreet,  and  forcing  him  to  fight — suc- 
cessfully so  far !  Still  Geul.  Hill's  division 
might  be  needed  to  co-operate  with  him  in 
his  effort  to  repulse  this  attack,  and  it  was 
kept  behind  to  serve  in  such  an  exigency. 

The  column  was  halted  and  brought  to 
the  right  about ;  then  it  was  slowly  con- 
ducted back  to  the  campus  of  the  venerable 
William  and  Mary  College,  and  there  held 
in  reserve. 

There  the  impatient  troops  waited  for 
hours,  listening  to  the  advancing  and  re- 
ceding fire — waited  until  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon. 

At  that  hour  the  climax,  the  agony,  the 
crisis  of  the  battle  was  reached.  A  breath- 
less horseman,  his  steed  white  with  foam, 
rode  up  to  General  Hill  and  nervously 
said : 


"  Genl.  Longstreet  asked  me  to  say  — 
Will  you  advance  at  once  and  put  your  line 
in  connection  with  him,  your  right  resting 
on  the  left  of  the  Yorktown  road  ?  " 

"  Very  well.  Major." 

"  He  said,  Will  you  please  be  quick  ?  A 
heavy  force,  under  Genl.  Hancock,  is  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  turn  his  flank." 

"  Yes,  Major  ;  tell  him  I  have  started." 

Genl.  Hill  put  his  division  in  motion  ; 
and,  tramping  through  the  muddy  streets 
of  Williamsburg,  the  troops  i^ressed  on  to 
meet  the  advancing  foe. 

"  Ah,  Jock  !  "  cried  Col.  Ashe,  in  a  gay 
tone,  as  he  mounted  his  horse  to  ride  for- 
ward to  the  fray.  "  Ah,  Jock,  now  you  will 
have  an  opportunity  to  flesh  your  maiden 
sword.     Don't  you  relish  the  prospect  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  do.  Colonel,"  replied 
the  usually  jocose,  light-hearted,  and  al- 
ways brave  Adjutant.  "I  shall  do  my 
duty,  sir ;  but  I  really  don't  like  such 
work." 

About  a  mile  from  Williamsburg,  on  the 
road  which  leads  from  that  town  to  York- 
town,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  along 
the  level  ground  on  either  side,  the  view 
being  interrupted  here  and  there  by  a 
clump  of  woods,  the  lines  of  Longstreet  and 
McClellan  were  engaged  in  tierce  conflict. 

Heintzelman  was  in  immediate  command 
of  the  Federal  forces,  and  his  troops  were 
fighting  well,  the  victory  wavering  in  the 
balance,  when  Hill,  riding  in  advance  of  his 
men,  joined  Longstreet,  who,  in  company 
with  General  Johnston,  was  watching  the 
combat  with  great  anxiety. 

The  Confederates  were  standing  like 
men  of  adamant  before  the  deadly  charges 
that  were  being  made,  one  after  another, 
against  their  weak  lines. 

The  foe  in  front  was  earnest,  but  the 
greatest  damage  was  not  inflicted  by  him. 
On  the  right  of  the  road,  coming  from 
Yorktown,  there  was  a  line  of  redoubts, 
strongly  built,  which  were  thrown,  up  by 
skillfid  engineers,  for  the  protection  of  the 
town,  in  the  event  of  assault  from  that 
quarter ;  but  these  were  not  occupied  by 
the  Confederates,  all  of  whom  were  fighting 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Worse,  they 
had  been  seized  by  Genl.  Hancock,  who  was 
firing  upon  Longstreet  in  left  and  rear,  tha 
heavy  guns  of  his  batteries  pom-ing  a  most 


68 


DOLORES. 


destructive  and  harassing  enfilade  and  re- 
verse fire  into  tlio  hard  pressed  Southern- 
ers. 

When  Genl.  Hill's  division  reached  the 
point  where  the  three  commanders  were  in 
consultation,  Earley's  brigade  and  the  Ala- 
bama brigade  were  ordered  to  deploy  on 
the  h'ft  of  the  road,  while  the  rest  of  the 
troops  were  sent  to  reinforce  the  sorely  as- 
sailed lines  which  were  coping  valiantly 
with  the  attacking  force  in  front. 

Genl.  Hill  followed  those  brigades  which 
Lad  been  deployed  on  the  left  to  confront 
Hancock,  and  marching  them  by  the  flank 
he  soon  carried  them  into  position  for  at- 
tacking. 

Halting  a  few  minutes  to  breathe  before 
commencing  the  desperate  Avork  which 
awaited  them,  Genl.  Hill  rode  from  regi- 
ment to   regiment  encouraging  his   men. 

At  last  he  reached  the  F th  regiment. 

He  recognized  the  Colonel.  He  had  confi- 
dence in  the  men.  He  relied  on  the  skill 
of  their  commander,  and  on  their  valor. 
He  knew  they  could  be  dep^^uded  upon  for 
any  enterprise. 

Kidiug  to  the  centre  of  this  command, 
he  brought  it  to  attention  and  addressed  it : 

"  Soldiers !  "  said  he,  his  cold  stern  eye 
glaring  at  them  steadily.  "  I  want  you  to 
make  this  a  proud  day  for  North  Carolina. 
Just  through  that  skirt  of  woods  in  front 
is  a  battery  which  must  be  taken.  You 
are  to  charge  it  with  fixed  bayonets  ;  and 
are  not  to  fire  until  you  can  touch  the 
breasts  of  your  adversaries  with  the  muz- 
zles of  your  pieces.  You  must  give  them 
cold  steel  and  they  can't  stand  before  your 
impetuous  advance.  I  rely  on  this  Regi- 
ment— your  State  looks  to  you  to  sustain 
its  honor.  Then  make  yourselves  im- 
mortal on  this  field.     Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  We  will  ! "  was  the  cry  of  them  all — 
speaking  as  one  man. 

Then  rang  along  the  line,  the  word  of 
command. 

"  FORWARD  MARCH !  " 

The  skirt  of  woods  was  passed ;  the 
steady  line  passed  out  into  the  open  field 
beyond,  elbow  to  elbow  in  grim  array. 

Whiz  !  whiz !  Cannister  and  shell  swept 
from  right  to  left  down  the  line  ;  but,  with 
a  tramp  as  regular  as  on  drill  or  parade, 
the  F th  Regiment  moved  out  of  the 


cover  of  the  woods   in   full   sight   of  the 
artillerists. 

"  cn.vnge  direction  to  the  left  ! 
The  Redoubt  !  It  must  be  taken  and 
that  quick  !  " 

Fully  a  half  mile  ahead,  looming  up  in 
the  distance  through  the  smoke  of  the  bat- 
tle, stood  the  strong  field  fortress  which 
wag  to  be  assaulted.  Colonel  Ashe  had 
been  deceived  as  to  its  position  by  the  fir- 
ing of  a  liglit  battery  which  retreated  as 
his  regiment  emerged  from  the  forest.  A 
hundred  and  fifty  paces  in  advance  of 
this  redoubt,  a  brigade  of  Federal  infantry 
supported  the  six  gun  field  battery,  which 
was  now  unlimbering,  having  been  driven 
back  to  this  position.  The  heavy  ordnance, 
through  the  embrasures  of  the  fort,  kept 
up  an  incessant  firing. 

Colonel  Ashe's  regiment  now  confronted 
this  position  and  force,  and  he  pressed  his 
men  forward  to  storm  and  capture  the  for- 
tress. The  ranks  grew  thinner  every  step 
the  troops  trudged  through  the  deep  mud 
in  which  thev  were  sinking  to  their  knees. 

With  the  calmness  of  despair  the  noble 
regiment  continued  to  face  the  appalling 
terrors  of  the  fearful  charge. 

Two  of  the  regiments  sent  to  accompany 
them,  faltered  and  turned  back,  panic 
stricken  ;  and  yet  through  all,  marching 
bravely  to  the  goal  where  Honor  or  Death 
— one  or  the  other — certainly  awaited,  this 
single  regiment  drove  back  the  battery  and 
its  supporting  brigade,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes it  was  crouching  under  the  eaves  of 
the  fortification  which  they  were"  ordered 
to  seize. 

But  the  support  pledged  them  did  not 
come — the  comrades  who  started  with  tliem 
to  make  this  forlorn  venture  had  turned 
back. 

Unassisted,  this  regiment  was  unable  to 
climb  the  work,  was  unable  to  gather  the 
fruits  of  its  valor.  More  than  half  of  the 
men  had  fallen  in  the  charge. 

Yet  the  brave  Ashe  refused  to  retire  ; 
and  they  lay  down  to  Avatch  upon  their 
glorious  post  of  peril  and  honor. 

During  the  advance  the  Color-bearer  of 
the  regiment  fell;  and,  in  rapid  succession, 
every  member  of  the  Color-Guard  shared 
his  fate.  Nine  times  the  battle-flag  was 
lilted — nine  times  it  dropped. 


DOLORES. 


69 


The  Tenth  time  it  was  raised ;  the  tenth 
time  it  was  cut  dowu.  No  arm  durst  un- 
furl it  again — no  heart  has  the  stout  cour- 
age to  do  the  sublime  deed. 

Not  one  !  Yes,  there  is  one,  and  he  comes 
forward  to  risk  the  almost  certain  death ! 

It  is  Vernon  ! 

The  Carolinian's  face  is  aglow  with  pride  ; 
his  soul  is  nerved  with  ambition  ;  he  seizes 
the  staff;  presses  far  ahead  of  the  line ; 
waves  the  flag  defiantly  ;  dares  Fate's 
wi'ath  ;  and  is  not  touched. 

A  shout  burst  from  the  hoarse  throats  of 
his  fellows, 

"  Three  cheers  for  Captain  Vernon  !" 

The  Federal  General  Hancock,  witnessing 
the  brilliant  feat,  raised  his  voice  loud 
above  the  raging  storm  of  the  conflict,  and 
chivalrously  shouted. 

"  THREE  CHEERS  FOR  THE  BRAVE 
REBEL !     HIP  !  HIP  !  HURRAH  !  " 

The  troops  of  both  armies  ceased  firing 
and  joined  in  the  splendid  testimonial  to 
a  valiant  soldier's  good  deed  of  courage. 

Seeing  that  he  was  making  a  useless 
sacrifice  of  his  men  in  trying  to  keep  this 
position.  General  Hill  ordered  the  regiment 
to  retire,  and  it  fell  back  reluctantly  un- 
der a  dreadful  and  excruciating  succession 
of  destructive  volleys. 

Many  a  gallant  officer  and  faithful  and 
daring  soldier  was  left  behind.  Among  the 
rest  poor  Jock  Wright,  who  was  shot  down 
early  in  the  engagement. 

Until  the  battle  was  over  Vernon  did  not 
learn  of  this  misfortune  of  his  friend,  and 
even  when  informed  that  Jock  was  among 
the  missing  could  not  ascertain  whether  he 
was  dead,  or  wounded.  His  first  satisfacto- 
ry information  was  from  Col.  Ashe,  who 
overtook  Roland  as  they  were  retreating 
from  Williamsburg  the  next  morning  about 
daybreak. 

'•  Poor  Jock  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Poor 
Jock  !  He  is  certainly  dead.  Struck  in  the 
temple  by  a  Minie  ball.  Corporal  Jacobs 
saw  him  and  ip  confident  that  he  is  dead  by 
this  time." 

"  I  fear  there  is  no  doubt.  Oh !  oh  ! 
What  sliall  We  say  to  his  friends  ?  What 
shall  we  tell  her  ?  " 

"  Her  ?    Who  ? "  asked  the  Colonel. 

"  Belle  Woodruff !  You  know  they  were 
engaged  to  be  married.     Poor  Belle  !  " 


"  Poor  girl !  "  sighed  the  Colonel  in  sym- 
pathy. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  march  from  Williamsburg  was  a 
hard  one,  the  army  tramping  at  night,  and 
resting  during  the  day,  until  the  Chicka- 
hominy  was  reached. 

Vernon  bore  the  unparalleled  hardships 
which  were  entailed  upon  officers  and  men 
in  this  retreat  with  quite  as  much  endur- 
ance as  belonged  to  the  hardiest  of  the 
troops.  But  he  was  of  feeble  constitution, 
and  when  the  army  went  into  camp  near 
Richmond  he  was  seriously  ill  with  an  at- 
tack of  bilious  fever — so  much  so,  that 
Doctor  Effingham,  the  surgeon  of  the  Reg- 
iment, sent  him  to  a  field  hospital,  where 
he  remained  about  two  weeks  in  a  state  of 
great  debility. 

In  the  meantime,  many  troops  from  the 
South — some  veterans,  some  recently  en- 
tered the  service — were  massed  at  the  Con- 
federate Capital,  to  strengthen  the  army  of 
Johnston,  which  awaited  the  attack  of  Me- 
Clellan,  who  was  approaching  slowly  but 
surely  behind  his  parallels,  besieging  Rich- 
mond. 

Paul  Adams,  holding  a  commission  as 
Captain,  came  with  one  of  these  newly  or- 
ganized commands  ;  and  was  in  charge  of 
the  right  company  of  the  regimental  line. 

About  noon  on  the  31st  of  May  a  mes- 
senger brought  a  note  to  Captain  Vernon, 
who  was  still  very  sick  in  the  hospital, 
which  was  immediately  handed  to  him  by 
one  of  the  attendants. 

The  note  was  from  Col.  Ashe,  and  was  in 
the  following  words  ; 

Dear  Roland : 

We  are  preparing  to  attack  McClellan. 
I'm  hard  up  for  officers.  If  possible,  and 
agreeable,  come  get  AveU  in  the  battle's  ex- 
citement. But  don't  come  if  j'ou  feel  too 
weak.  We  need  you;  but  I  don't  want 
you  to  be  imprudent. 

Truly  yours,  E,  AsHE, 

May  31st,  1803. 


70 


DOLORES. 


Captain  Vernon  did  not  hesitate.  He 
instantly  put  on  his  clothes,  told  Doctor 
EflBngliam  where  he  was  going,  and  in  fif- 
teen minutes  joined  his  comrades.  Men 
and  officers  crowded  around  and  welcomed 
him  cordially  back  lo  camp. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Ear- 
ley's  brigade  was  placed  in  position,  its  right 
resting  on  the  Williamsburg  road,  near  the 
clump  of  trees,  from  which  this  engage- 
ment took  its  name — Seven  Pines.    The 

F th  Regiment  was  on  the  left  of  the 

brigade  and  Vernon's  company  was  on  the 
left  of  the  regiment.  The  advance  was  to 
be  made  against  formidable  works,  protect- 
ed by  swampy  woods  and  well  constructed 
dbattis. 

The  regiment  to  which  Paul  Adams  be- 
longed was  on  the  right  of  the  brigade  next 
to  Earley's  left  and  Adams'  company  was  on 
the  right  of  that  regiment.  So  that  Cap- 
tain Vernon  and  Captain  Adams — old  rivals 
in  peace,  rivals  still  in  war — Avere  to  battle 
in  sight  of  each  other. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock,  when,  preced- 
ed by  a  long  line  of  skirmishers,  this  force 
advanced,  by  the  right  of  companies  to  the 
front,  under  an  annoying  fire. 

With  the  exception  of  a  small  reserve, 
the  entire  army  was  rushed  upon  McClel- 
lan  at  the  same  moment ;  and,  before  its 
onset,  the  Federal  skirmishers  and  advanced 
lines  retired  in  haste  to  their  works. 

When  the  Confederate  army  had  ap- 
proached so  near  to  the  Federal  line  of  bat- 
tle as  to  be  compelled  to  form  a  compact 
rank  of  assault,  and  to  cease  its  advance 
by  the  head  of  companies,  the  order  was 
given  to  bring  the  companies  into  line. 
Captain  Adams,  unfortunately  for  his  tac- 
tical reputation,  neglected,  while  moving 
through  the  woods,  to  preserve  the  proper 
distance  from  the  company  on  his  right ; 
and,  consequently,  when  the  order,  "  By 
companies  into  line  !  "  was  given,  his  right 
was  lapped  by  Vernon's  left.  This  occa- 
sioned confusion  and  checked  that  impul- 
sion Avhich  the  touching  of  elbows  never 
fails  to  impart. 

The  dash  upon  the  Federal  works  was 
met  gallantly,  and  a  most  galling  and  stag- 
gering fire  of  musketry  was  opposed  to  the 
advance  of  the  charging  line.  Adams'  men 
were  thrown  into  disorder  by  these  terrific 


volleys  and  were  with  great  difficulty  re- 
strained from  deserting  the  field.  But  the 
closed  ranks  of  the  veteran  regiment  be- 
hind them,  steadied  them  for  a  moment, 
until  the  battle  raged  so  furiously  that  the 
most  daring  soldiers  quailed. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  break  in  Adams' 
company,  and  the  fugitives  burst  through 
Vernon's  serried  ranks,  scattering  his  men 
so  that  they  could  no  longer  be  kept  in 
their  places.  Following  which,  was  a  dis- 
graceful and  precipitate  flight. 

Vernon  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  would  be 
a  hopeless  undertaking  to  attempt  to  rally 
the  frightened  troops  under  the  hailstorm 
of  bullets  that  poured  down  from  the  fire- 
lined  breastworks,  under  the  edges  of  which 
the  Confederate  lines  were  struggling  with 
superhuman  daring. 

Deliberately,  he  turned  to  follow  the  fu- 
gitives, determining  to  form  them  again 
under  the  cover  of  the  woods,  and  to  bring 
them  back  to  the  attack  in  order. 

W^alking  a  little  way  to  the  rear,  he 
found  Adams,  bravely  trying  to  rally  the 
scattered  force,  but  accomplishing  no  good 
by  his  effi)rts. 

"  My  God  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  ruined 
— what  shall  I  do?"  was  Adams'  piteous 
exclamation  to  Vernon  wlien  overcome  with 
shame  he  found  that  his  rival  had  wit- 
nessed the  disaster.  "  Appeal  does  no  good 
— example  does  no  good — nothing  does  any 
good !  " 

Vernon  was  scrutinizing  his  behavior. 
He  saw  that  Adams  was  brave,  but  wild 
with  excitement.  He  was  astonished ;  for 
Paul  was  usually  cool,  and  possessed  excel- 
lent self-command.  But  then,  he  did  not 
remember  that  out  of  battle  he  himself  was 
quickly  angered,  or  confused,  but  in  battle 
always  deliberate.  A  curious  fact !  These 
men  were  the  antipodes  of  each  other  ;  and 
the  peace  nature  and  the  war  nature  of 
each  was  at  antipodes. 

"  By  heaven,  I  know  what  I  can  do! — I 
can  die  gallantly  on  the  breastworks ! " 
exclaimed  Paul  Adams,  when,  at  length,  he 
was  convinced  of  the  impossibility  of  carry- 
ing his  men  back  to  their  place  in  the  line. 

Then,  bent  on  perishing  honorably,  he 
darted  to  the  front.  Vernon  stopped  him 
with  a  word. 

"  Fie,   Adams — fie  !      Come    with    me ; 


DOLORES. 


71 


come  back  to  the  road !  We'll  reform  our 
companies  out  of  range  of  tliose  guns,  and 
yet  be  in  time  !     Come  !  " 

And  witb  the  deliberation  of  a  Welling- 
ton, Vernon  started  to  execute  his  purpose. 

Adams  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  in 
doubt ;  but,  taking  confidence  from  his  ri- 
val's manner,  followed  him,  submissively 
accepting  his  suggestions  and  relying  on  his 
judgment. 

Vernon  was  not  mistaken  :  in  a  few  sec- 
onds they  rallied  their  men  in  the  road, 
stopped  the  panic,  marched  back  to  their 
comrades,  and  assisted  them  in  taking  the 
heavy  battery  which  for  an  hour  had  poured 
its  volleys  of  grape,  shrapnel,  and  shell  into 
their  ranks,  and  made  a  terrific  slaughter. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Vernon  fell  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  and  was  ordered  to  the 
hospital  by  Colonel  Ashe.  Within  its  walls, 
during  all  the  night,  and  part  of  the  next 
day,  he  lay  and  nervously  heard  the  crash 
and  thunder  of  the  distant  conflict. 

A  week  after  the  battle,  there  being  no 
material  improvement  in  his  condition, 
Roland  Vernon  was  advised  to  apply  for  a 
sick  leave  ;  and,  upon  the  certificate  of  Doc- 
tor EflBnghant,  was  granted  sixty  days. 

He  left  for  home  about  the  10th  of  Jtme, 
and  was  fortunate  enoitgh  to  escape  the  ter- 
rible series  of  engagements  of  the  Seven 
Days  around  Eichmond.  He  remained 
away  from  his  regiment  for  many  weeks, 
most  of  the  time  severely  ill  from  the  dis- 
ease by  which  he  was  originally  prostrated. 
During  this  sickness,  however,  he  had  the 
consolation  of  a  woman's  tenderness  and 
sympathy,  for  Alice  waited  upon  him  like 
an  angel  of  love,  as  she  was,  and  ministered 
to  his  wants  with  a  touching  fondness  and 
devotion. 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

Roland  Vernon  recovered  slowly  ;  but 
about  the  middle  of  August  he  began  to 
rally,  and  then  to  convalesce  rapidly. 

His  faithful  nitrse  had  attended  by  his 
bed-side  eager  to  alleviate  his  suffering  and 
to  catch  the  glance  of  love  with  which  she 


was  repaid  for  her  gentle  devotion.  She 
was  glad  to  have  him  well  again  ;  but  she 
did  not  relish  the  idea  of  his  becoming 
strong  enough  to  return  to  duty  in  the 
field ;  notwithstanding  which,  he  was  in  a 
fever  of  excitement  to  rejoin  his  regi- 
ment. 

At  length  his  recovery  was  so  complete 
that  Alice  even  could  not  find  a  good  reason 
for  detaining  Roland  any  longer  ;  so  about 
the  first  of  September  he  got  ready  to  leave, 
with  the  expectation  of  overtaking  Genl. 
Lee's  army  on  its  march  towards  Washing- 
ton, afterwards  changed  into  an  advance 
into  Maryland. 

Captain  Vernon's  experience,  as  a  soldier, 
had  taught  him  that  it  was  by  no  means 
certain  that  he  would  survive  another 
campaign ;  and,  as  he  was  utterly  unpre- 
pared, as  respected  the  arrangement  of  his 
business,  for  death,  he  resolved  to  make 
his  will,  and  a  provision  for  the  execution 
of  the  strange  trust  imposed  upon  him  by 
his  grandfather. 

To  carry  out  this  idea,  he  wished  to 
have  an  interview  with  his  father  for  the 
purpose  of  securing  his  advice  and  assist- 
ance in  the  accomplishment  of  his  plans. 

"  You  will  be  in  your  office  at  four  or 
five  ?  "  asked  Roland,  a  day  or  two  before 
the  time  appointed  for  his  departitre,  as  his 
father  started  to  town  one  morning. 

"  I  really  do  not  know.  Anything  im- 
portant ? " 

"Yes,  sir.  I  leave  this  on  the  first  of 
September ;  and  I  have  some  business, 
about  which  I  wish  to  consult  you,  that 
must  be  attended  to  before  I  start." 

"  Then  I  will  meet  you  at  five — five  pre- 
cisely." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Be  punctual !  I  have  an  engagement 
with  Morrisson  at  six." 

Roland  went  to  town  in  the  afternoon, 
and  reaching  his  father's  olfice  at  five,  found 
him  disengaged,  ready  to  hear  him  make  a 
detailed  statement  of  his  case. 

Roland  was  a  master  of  the  art  of  deliv- 
ering luminous,  terse,  and  comprehensive 
statements,  and  at  an  intimation  from  Col. 
Vernon  that  he  was  waiting  on  him,  he  at 
once  proceeded  to  put  him  iu  possession  of 
the  facts,  and  opinions,  and  papers  upon 
^  which  he  desired  to  receive  counsel. 


72 


DOLORES. 


Tlie  Colonel  listened  in  silenc"e ;  and 
when  liis  son  concluded,  took  the  instru- 
ments which  he  had  prepared,  and  gave 
a  close  examination.  In  this  examination 
at  least  three  quarters  of  an  hour  were 
spent. 

"  Didn't  I  hear  some  one  enter  the  front 
office?"  inquired  Col.  Vernon,  as  he  care- 
fully folded  the  last  paper. 

"  I  think  not,  sir,"  replied  .Roland  ;  "  but 
T  will  see." 

Rising  from  his  seat,  the  young  man 
walked  to  the  door,  and  looked  through 
into  the  front  office,  but  found  it  unoccu- 
pied. He  did  not  hear  the  rustling  of  the 
library  curtains,  nor  perceive  the  form  of 
a  man  that  was  hidden  in  one  of  the 
alcoves. 

When  Roland  returned,  and  reported 
that  no  one  was  to  be  seen  in  the  front 
room,  Col.  Vernon  remarked, 

"  The  papers  are  drawn  so  that  there  can 
be  no  possibility  of  misconstruction  ;  and 
will  serve  their  end  admirably.  They  are 
specific  and  sufficiently  clear  to  guide  the 
trustees,  yet  are  sufficiently  guarded  not  to 
reveal  the  secret  which  you  desire  to  pre- 
serve. The  most  experienced  lawyer 
could  not  have  done  this  work  better  than 
you  have  performed  it ;  and,  if  there  should 
be  any  occasion  for  their  use — which  I  trust 
may  not  be  the  case  for  j'ears  to  come — they 
will  plainly  indicate  your  wishes." 

"  The  fact  of  the  trust  being  sealed  and 
deposited  in  bank,  until  absolute  need  for 
it  occurs,  will  not  invalidate  these  instru- 
ments?" 

"No.  A  secret  trust,  even  if  only  im- 
ix)sed  verbally,  can  be  enforced  in  a  Court 
of  Equity.  There  will  be  no  trouble  on 
that  score." 

"  Then  I  will  draw  off  a  copy  of  the  let- 
ter of  Grandfather  Leigh,  seal  it,  and  de- 
posit it  in  the  C town  Bank." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  best ;  and  for 
the  guidance  of  the  trustee  of  this  instru- 
ment, and  the  executor  of  the  will,  you 
might  insert  in  both  papers,  a  clause  dis- 
closing the  place  of  the  deposit." 

"  I  will.  Now  that  this  is  settled,  I  have 
a  request  to  prefer.  I  wish  you  to  be  Trus- 
tee to  the  Deed;  and  Executor  of  the  Will. 
May  I  hope  that  you  will  oblige  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  son.    I  will  do  my  best 


to  act  for  you,  as  I  believe  you  would  act 
for  yourself.     Be  assured  of  that !  " 

"  Then,  sir,  I  shall  go  back  to  the  army 
with  a  light  heart  and  an  easy  mind.  If 
my  wife  is  beyond  the  reach  of  any  disaster 
that  may  befall  me,  and  if  my  promise  is 
discharged  to  the  letter  of  my  pledge  to 
grandfather,  I  have  no  care,  and  can  die 
like  a  brave  soldier,  if  need  be.  I  thank 
you,  sir,  for  your  assurance." 

"And  you  say  that  Morri.«son  is  con- 
cerned in  this  trust.  Very  strange — very 
strange  !  Do  you  think  he  is  aware  of  the 
fact  ?  You  know  there  is  a  peculiarity  in 
the  will  of  Mr.  Leigh,  and  that  he  exam- 
ined it,  in  settling  the  estate  with  me  ?  " 

"  Indeed  ?  Ah  !  now  I  do  remember  that 
you  made  me  employ  a  lawyer,  or  do  the 
work  myself.  Really,  I  cannot  conjecture 
whether  he  suspects  or  not.  Probably 
he—" 

Roland  stopped  short.  His  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  cough,  and  then  a  step 
in  the  other  room. 

"  It's  Morrisson  !  "  whispered  the  Colonel, 
looking  at  bis  watch.     "  Exactly  six  !  " 

"  Good  evening !  Ah !  you're  engaged," 
and  Mr.  Morrisson,  who  ha^walked  to  the 
door  of  the  back  room,  started  to  retire. 

"  No.  Come  in,  Morrisson  !  We  are 
through." 

"  How  are  both  of  you  ?  Roland,  you  are 
looking  better,  boy !  I'm  punctual  you 
perceive.  Colonel." 

And  the  veteran  lawyer  took  a  seat. 

Roland  excused  himself  directly  ;  and  left 
his  father  and  Mr.  Morrisson  to  conduct 
their  conference  privately,  hurrying  home 
to  join  his  sweet  little  wife,  from  whom  he 
was  so  soon  to  be  long  separated. 


CHAPTER  IX.  " 

Anxious  to  find  Colonel  Vernon  at  his 
office  at  the  hour  of  his  appointment,  Jfr. 
Morrisson  set  out  at  half-past  five  to  fulfill 
his  engagement. 

A  ten  minutes'  walk  brought  liim  to  Col. 
Vernon's  office,  and  he  entered  ;  but,  per- 
ceiving the  father  and  son  in  close  consul- 


DOLORES. 


73 


tation,  so  deeply  engaged  tliat  neitlier  no- 
ticed his  entrance,  he  sat  down  and  waited, 
endeavoring  not  to  attract  tlieir  attention. 

Here  Morrisson  remained  until  Colonel 
Vernon,  finishing  an  inspection  of  the  pa- 
pers in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  sug- 
gested that  some  one  had  entered  the  front 
office.  Then,  quick  as  thought,  he  glided 
into  one  of  the  alcoves  of  the  library  and 
pulled  the  curtains  over  himself  to  make 
his  hiding-place  secure.  He  determined  to 
ascertain  the  subject  of  the  conference  be- 
tween Vernons,  father  and  son. 

When  Roland  went  back  under  the  im- 
pression that  their  conversation  was  secure 
from  eavesdi'oppers,  and  so  told  his  father, 
Morrisson  emerged  from  his  covert,  and 
drew  near  the  inside  door,  through  a  crack 
of  which  he  could  overhear  their  inter- 
change of  views  and  watch  their  move- 
ments. He  did  not  have  to  wait  very  long 
before  he  was  repaid  for  his  infamy. 

"  A  secret  trust !  The  Leigh  will !  "  he 
muttered.  "  I  knew  there  was  some  mys- 
tery about  that  instrument.  And  it's  a 
Secret  Trust !  Perhaps  it  affects  the  bas- 
tard son  !  Ha  !  ha  !  "  and  he  chuckled  a 
low  devilish  laugh. 

"  But  I  must  be  very  attentive !  " 

And  with  this  observation  he  put  his  ear 
to  the  crack  again. 

Directly  he  rubbed  his  hands  and  his 
eyes  sparkled : 

"  Yes ;  it  does  affect  the  bastard,''  he 
said.  "  John  Morrisson  may  be  the  joint 
heir. — This  is  worth  looking  after,  John  ! " 

Turning  his  head  he  saw  the  face  of  the 
town  clock  through  the  window,  and  the 
hour  hand  was  at  sis,  and  the  minute  hand 
was  between  ten  and  eleven.  He  started  ; 
but  immediately  afterwards  j)ut  his  ear 
back  to  the  crack.  He  listened  three  or 
four  minutes  longer,  and  then  found  that 
he  was  not  likely  to  make  any  further  dis- 
covery. 

He  looked  at  the  clock  again  ;  crept  out 
from  behind  the  door,  and  cautiously  made 
his  way  to  the  front  entrance. 

Here  he  waited  until  the  minute  hand  on 
the  town  clock  indicated  twelve ;  and,  at 
that  moment,  rose  and  strutted  boldly  into 
the  back  office,  with  a  noise  and  bustle,  and 
the  air  of  a  man  just  entered. 

Neither  of  the  Vernons  suspected  him  of 


eavesdropping  ;  and  he  conducted  his  busi- 
ness with  the  father  with  the  most  admira- 
ble nonchalance. 

Their  interview  ended,  Colonel  Vernon 
went  to  Rushbrook,  and  Mr.  Morrisson 
hurried  back  to  his  own  office. 

After  reaching  this  den,  Morrisson  lit  his 
gas,  and  then  took  a  seat  by  an  open  win- 
dow. 

"  James  Leigh,"  said  he,  talking  to  him- 
self in  a  confidential  tone,  "  died  leaving 
property  worth  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  He  made  a  will,  and  by 
that  will  he  bequeathed  his  entire  estate  to 
Roland  Vernon.  Now,  James  Leigh  had  a 
son,  or  thought  he  had  a  son,  who  ought  to 
have  received  a  part  of  his  estate  ;  but,  un- 
fortunately, that  person  was — well,  he  was 
not  James  Leigh's  legitimate  son.  Conse- 
quently, if  James  Leigh  had  publicly  recog- 
nized this  person  by  making  him  one  of  his 
heirs,  he  would  have  compromised  the  dig- 
nity and  reputation  of  his  family.  But 
James  Leigh  was  a  man  to  do  justice  if  the 
heavens  fell,  so  he  secretly  provided  for 
that  person  by  instructing  Roland  Vernon 
to  divide  the  property  with  him.  Tliis  is 
indicated  by  the  closing  clause  of  the  will, 
and  by  the  fact  that  James  Leigh  imposed 
a  secret  trust  upon  Roland  Vernon." 

John  Morrisson,  having  said  this  much, 
stopped  and  cogitated. 

"  Isn't  this  logical  ?  Isn't  the  hypothesis 
strongly  supported  ?  "  he  continued.  "  Yet 
it  can  scarcely  be  so  ;  for  Roland  Vernon, 
like  his  whole  stock,  is  a  young  man  of  ir- 
reproachable honor,  and  Roland  Vernon 
has  never  executed  such  a  trust.  Would 
Roland  Vernon  commit  a  fraud  ?  Ab- 
stractly speaking,  I  should  say.  No — emphat- 
ically. No !  But  then  human  nature  is 
weak,  the  world  does  not  hold  one  thor- 
oughly reliable  man." 

With  this  reflection  Morrisson  stopped 
again,  and  paused  a  few  minutes  to  con- 
sider. After  a  few  minutes'  meditation  he 
took  a  chew  of  tobacco,  and,  with  a  very 
thoughtful  air,  continued : 

"  Admitting  that  there  has  been  fraud  on 
the  part  of  Vernon,  what  remedy  has  the 
person  that  he  has  wronged  ?  There  is  no 
legal  relief  to  be  obtained ;  but  a  Court 
of  Equity,  which  can  deal  with  the  Con- 
sciences of  men,  may  force  him  to  discover 


74 


DOLORES, 


Lis  trust  and  force  him  to  perform  it. 
There's  no  doubt  about  that !  " 

Now  Morrisson  halted  once  more,  and 
ruminated,  at  last  breaking  out  into  further 
soliloquy : 

"  But  can  that  person  establish  his  right  ? 
Can  tlie  proof  be  produced  to  identify  any- 
body with  the  supposed  illegitimate  son  of 
James  Leigh  ?  Yes ;  John  Morrisson  can 
convince  any  Court  in  Christendom  that  he 
is  James  Leigh's  bastard.  But  will  it  pay '! 
In  money,  yes.  Will  it  cost  anything? 
Yes ;  the  loss  of  all  social  standing  will 
inevitably  result." 

Morrisson  got  up  and  paced  the  room 
nervously  ;  and  it  was  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
before  he  uttered  another  word.  Then  he 
said: 

"  What  social  standing  have  I,  that  I 
may  not  profitably  forfeit  for  a  hundred 
and  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  ?  ISIoney 
will  buy  position  in  society.  Yes  ;  but  not 
here  in  the  South.  Integrity,  talent,  pol- 
ish, all  combined,  or  an  unstained  pedigree 
— these  are  the  requisite  credentials.  If  I 
had  moral  worth  and  refinement,  coupled 
■with  my  ability,  I  could  aspire  to  associ- 
ation with  the  best  blood  of  the  Cape  Fear. 
Talent,  however,  backed  by  nothing  else 
but  wealth,  will  not  achieve  the  coveted 
position.  But,  elsewhere!  Oh,  yes!  In 
other  states,  in  other  countries,  money  ^vill 
secure  the  entree  !  " 

Morrisson  now  rose  hastily  from  his  seat 
and  walked  across  the  floor  to  an  old  trunk, 
from  the  bottom  of  which  he  drew  forth  a 
much  worn  portfolio,  that  was  discolored 
with  great  age.  Spreading  this  on  his  knee, 
he  glanced  hurriedly  at  many  papers  and 
after  considerable  search  brought  to  light 
a  folio  of  faded  manuscripts.  He  separated 
these  from  the  rest  of  the  papers,  and,  put- 
ting them  on  the  table  near  his  right  hand, 
returned  all  the  others  to  their  places  and 
carried  the  portfolio  back  to  the  trunk. 
As  he  carelessly  swung  this,  to  pitch  it 
into  its  place,  a  ring  fell  from  it  and  rolled, 
without  being  discerned  by  him,  into  a 
crack  of  the  floor  near  the  fire-place. 

Morrisson  reseated  himself,  after  doing 
this  ;  and,  unfolding  the  manuscript  buried 
himself  in  its  pages. 


"  So  James  Leigh  pledged  his  word  that 
neither  she,  nor  her  son,  should  ever  need 
luxurious  maintenance!"  he  exclaimed,  af- 
ter finishing  the  perusal  of  this  paper. 
"  '  He,  during  his  lifetime,  or  his  heirs, 
within  twelve  years  from  the  date  of  his 
death,  will  respect  a  demand  from  Mary 
Morrisson  or  her  child,  upon  the  delivery 
of  the  enclosed  ring,  for  any  amount  un- 
der ton  thousand  dollars,  and  these  de- 
mands may  be  made  as  often  as  once  in 
three  years,  and  until  one  half  of  his  for- 
tune is  exhausted  in  their  satisfaction.' 
Good  God,  what  a  penitent  and  munificent 
old  Boue  he  was — a  prince  of  generous 
rakes  ! " 

And  with  this  exclamation  he  threw 
down  the  manuscript. 

"  But  where  is  the  ring?  Nevermind! 
It's  in  the  trunk  somewhere.  I  used  to 
wear  it ;  and,  if  it  were  lost,  I  could  have 
another  made.  I'll  reserve  this  pledge  as 
a  dernier  resort.  But,  suppose  I  should  be 
detected  ?  Bah  !  How  are  they  to  know 
whether  I  am  the  son  or  not  ?  " 

Morrisson  turned  off  the  gas,  as  he  said 
this ;  and,  leaving  his  ofiice,  walked  to- 
wards his  hotel.  When  he  got  into  the 
street  he  muttered  to  himself : 

"  Circumstances  conspire  wonderfully  to 
support  my  surmise.  He  must  have  left 
half  of  his  estate  to  the  bastard.  But  will 
it  be  best  to  bring  Vernon  to  account? 
Regard  for  him — and  there's  no  estimating 
my  good  will  for  the  boy — counsels,  No  ! — 
but  Self-interest  cries.  Yes  !  Away  with 
Feeling,  I  hearken  to  the  voice  of  Reason. 
Ho !  for  a  Chancery  suit !  " 

Morrisson  was  not  slow  in  acting  after 
having  resolved  on  his  course,  and  he  at 
once  prepared  and  filed  a  petition  in  Equi- 
ty, alleging  that  Roland  Vernon  was  the 
Trustee  of  James  Leigh  to  pay  John  Mor- 
risson the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars,  more  or  less,  and 
asking  the  Court  to  enforce  the  perform- 
ance of  the  trust. 

And  so,  having  iugtitvrted  the  suit,  John 
Morrisson  awaited  the  filing  of  Roland 
Vernon's  answer. 


DOLORES. 


75 


CHAPTER  X. 

DxTRiNG  Captain  Vernon's  absence  from 
the  regiment,  six  hundred  conscripts,  most 
of  tliem  opposed  to  tLe  war,  and  Avitliout 
tliat  sentiment  ■wliicli  slioiild  inspire  the 
true  soldier,  had  been  attached,  to  fill  the 

depleted  ranks  of  the  Bloody  F th,  as 

Col.  Ashe's  command  ^vas  called  after  its 
heroic  charge  at  Williamsburg.  Sixty  of 
these  conscripts  were  assigned  to  Vernon's 
company  and  mixed  with  twenty  veterans 
who  survived  the  earlier  campaigns. 

The  Bloody  F th  participated  in  the 

battle  of  Boonsboro,  or  South  Mountain,  as 
it  is  frequently  called  ;  and,  in  that  engage- 
ment, Vernon  quickly  learned  that  no  reli- 
ance could  be  placed  on  the  new  levies  sent 
from  the  Camps  of  Conscription. 

With  drill  and  discipline  such  material 
might  be  moulded  into  soldiers ;  but,  as 
they  Avere,  utterly  ignorant  of  the  simplest 
movements  of  the  school  of  the  soldier,  not 
knowing  the  difiference  between  Eight  Face 
and  Shoulder  Arms,  he  was  convinced  that 
they  would  behave  badly  in  their  first  se- 
vere encounter  with  the  enemy. 

He  was  not  astonished,  therefore,  when, 
as  the  Bloody  F th  was  about  to  grap- 
ple with  the  strong  lines  of  the  Federal  ar- 
my at  Sharpsbarg,  the  entire  command 
broke  and  fled  incontineiitly.  He  had  ap- 
prehended just  such  a  result,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  do  whatever  could  be  done  to  rem- 
edy this  misfortime. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  whole 
brigade,  shaken  in  its  courage  by  such  an 
example,  quickly  abandoned  its  position, 
despite  the  efforts  of  the  officers,  most  of 
whom  endeavored  to  hold  their  men  to  the 
work  of  repelling  the  enemy's  assault,  Ver- 
non, when  his  regiment  commenced  its 
flight,  outran  the  scattering  and  frightened 
troops,  and,  getting  ahead  of  them,  suc- 
ceeded in  rallying  about  fifty  of  his  men 
and  carrying  them  back  to  the  fight. 

"You  don't  desert  me,  as  every  one  else 
has  done.  Captain  Vernon — I  knew  I  could 
rely  on  you !  "  was  the  complimentary  sal- 
utation of  Colonel  Ashe  as  Vernon  rejoined 
him,  where  he  stood  alone  on  the  spot 
which  the  brigade,  under  his  command — 
he  being  the  senior  Colonel  and  in  tempo- 


rary charge  of  the  brigade — had  occupied 
a  few  minutes  before. 

"  It  is  because  I  was  fortunate  in  stopping 
my  men.  I  have  never  seen  a  more  cause- 
less or  complete  panic !  " 

"  I  have  noticed,  Captain,  that  good  for- 
tune on  the  battle-field  is  the  result  of  in- 
tellect and  bravery." 

Vernon  bowed  in  recognition  of  this 
praise ;  and  then  observed : 

"  I  doubt  whether  a  fourth  of  the  brig- 
ade can  be  brought  back  !  " 

"  So  do  I !  "  growled  the  disgusted  Colo- 
nel. "  Indeed,  I  think  it  wiU  be  very  fool- 
ish for  us  to  remain  here  with  any  such 
hope.  You  had  better  seek  some  organized 
command  and  attach  yourself  to  it — I  will 
go  to  the  rear  and  try  to  reform  the  brigade. 
But  it  will  be  hard  Avork  !  " 

"  Just  as  you  think  best,  Colonel !  " 

Vernon  fell  back  in  good  order,  until,  on 
a  hill  a  short  distance  to  the  left,  he  espied 
a  line  of  Confederates.  He  led  his  men  to 
this  spot  and  inquired  for  the  commanding 
officer. 

"  Yonder  is  General  Evans  !  "  remarked 
a  Lieutenant  of  whom  he  sought  this  in- 
formation. 

"Where?" 

"  You  see  two  officers  on  that  hill  ?  "  he 
asked  pointing  to  an  eminence  in  the  rear 
of  his  line.  "  Genl.  Evans  is  there — he  is 
the  one  sitting  down  !  " 

Vernon  repaired  to  the  point  indicated, 
and  found  two  officers  in  consultation.  One 
he  recognized  as  General  Evans — the  other 
was  a  stranger.  He  Avas  a  tall,  vigorous, 
gray-haired  man,  with  a  bright  eye,  a  be- 
nevolent smile,  and  grave  but  pleasant  man- 
ners. He  wore  the  undress  of  an  officer — 
the  three  stars  on  each  side  of  the  collar  of 
his  sack  indicating  his  rank  to  be  that  of  a 
Colonel. 

When  Vernon  approached,  Genl.  Evans 
was  reclining  on  the  hill-side,  and  the  oth- 
er, standing  Avith  a  field-glass  in  his  hand, 
Avas  sweeping  the  horizon,  watching  the 
progress  of  the  battle  with  a  calm  but  in- 
terested demeanor. 

"  Will  Genl.  Evans  allow  me  to  attach 
my  company  to  his  brigade  ?  "  asked  Ver- 
non, addressing  the  hero  of  Leesburg. 

"  What  brigade  and  what  division  do  you 


76 


DOLORES. 


belong  to?"  interrupted  the  other  oflQcer, 
before  Gen.  Evans  could  reply. 

"  D.  II.  Hills  division — the  brigade  orig- 
inally commanded  bj  Earley,  since  by  Gar- 
land, now  by  Col.  Ashe  !  " 

"  \Miy  are  you  separated  from  it  ?  "  stern- 
ly inquired  the  interrogator. 

"  It  separated  from  me,  sir  !  "  responded 
Vernon,  his  eye  flashing  at  the  covert  in- 
sinuation. "The  brigade  left  the  field  in 
cowardly  flight — I  remained  with  my  com- 
pany. It  alone,  of  all  the  rest  of  the  brig- 
ade, is  organized.  Is  that  a  suflicient  rea- 
son, sir?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir !  "  was  the  mild 
reply  of  the  officer  ;  and  he  continued  ques- 
tioning Vernon,  without  giving  Evans  an 
opportunity  to  speak.  "  What  is  your 
name,  rank,  and  regiment?" 

"  Roland  Vernon,  Captain,  F th  North 

Carolina  Troops." 

"  Genl.  Evans,  I  think  you  had  as  well  let 
Captain  Vernon  attach  his  company  to 
your  brigade.  If  he  deserves  credit,  make 
mention  of  him  in  your  report— if,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  acts  discreditably  let  me 
know  it ! " 

"  And  who  the  deuce  are  you  ?"  won- 
dered Roland.     "  Ranks  Evans  anyhow!  " 

Vernon  started  back  to  his  company  and 
was  joined  by  Genl.  Evans. 

"  Genl.  Lee,  and  I,  saw  a  large  body  of 
troops  running  pell-mell  for  the  rear,"  said 
he  ;  "  but  we  did  not  know  what  command 
it  was — it's  bad — very  bad  !  " 

"  GENL.  LEE  !  Was  that  Genl.  Lee— 
Genl.  Robert  E.  Lee— avIio  interrogated 
me  so  closely  ?  "  asked  Vernon,  with  a  start, 
remembering  how  impudently  he  had  re- 
plied to  one  of  his  questions. 

"  It  was  I  "  said  Evans.  "And  the  best 
and  greatest  soldier  of  the  world  !  By-the- 
bye,  I  have  a  little  superior  whisky  ;  join 
nie  in  a  drink  to  his  good  luck  to-day." 

"  With  great  pleasure  !  " 

And  the  Carolinians  imbibed. 

Vernon  did  not  rejoin  Col.  Ashe  that 
day  ;  but  stayed  with  Evans  and  fought  fu- 
riously until  night  —  fought  under  the 
bravest  and  most  skillful  division  com- 
mander in  the  army.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  following  day  Vernon  went  back  to 
his  own  brigade. 

"  Well,  Captain,"  said  Col.  Ashe,  when 


he  reported  to  that  oflScer,  "we  are  to 
leave  Maryland  to-night,  and  wUl  go  back 
to  old  Virginia  badly  whipped.  McClellan 
is  no  sardine  !  " 

"  Extremely  unfortunate,  Colonel !  "  sad- 
ly rejoined  Vernon. 

"  Yes,  and  damnably  disgusting  !  "  bit- 
terly exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "  Disgusting ! 
The  idea  of  a  gentleman  hazarding  his  rei> 
utation  on  the  behavior  of  those  infernal 
conscripts.     I'll  resign — I  swear,  I  will !  " 


CHAPTER   XI. 

Early  in  October,  Captain  Vernon  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  his  father,  inforniing 
him  that  Alice  had  just  passed  through  an 
ordeal  that  aU  married  ladies  who  love  their 
husbands  are  expected  to  undergo  ;  and  that 
the  stillness  of  Mrs.  Adams'  cottage  Avas 
now  broken  by  the  cries  of  a  little  stranger, 
who,  although  not  quite  old  enough  to  give 
any  marked  indications  of  the  Vernon  pe- 
culiarity of  looks,  temperament,  or  mind, 
was  pronounced  by  all  the  old  ladies,  who 
had  seen  him,  a  very  pretty  baby,  and  won- 
derfully like  his  father. 

Roland  did  not  rest,  after  the  reception 
of  this  intelligence,  until  he  secured  a  brief 
leave  of  absence ;  whereupon,  as  fast  as 
trains,  steamboats  and  stages  would  carry 

him,  he  made  his  way  to  C town,  to  pay 

his  respects  to  the  mother  and  her  boy. 

Alice  was  rejoiced  at  the  return  of  her 
husband — rejoiced  because  his  love,  always 
so  warmly  and  tenderly  evinced,  gushed 
out  now  from  the  fountain  of  his  affection 
in  a  more  profuse  stream  than  ever — re- 
joiced because  the  young  father  was  so 
proud  and  happy  while  caressing  and  frol- 
icking with  his  infant  son. 

"  My  dear,  dear  husband  !  "  she  would 
cry,  her  heart  full  of  gladness.  "  Who  has 
more  cause  for  gratitude  than  I  ?  Who  has 
such  a  husband?  Who  has  such  a  boy? 
Who  is  so  devotedly  loved  ?  " 

Roland  would  wind  his  arms  around  her 
waist,  and  clasp  her  to  his  breast,  and  cover 
her  lips  with  approving  and  endearing 
lasses,  and  caressingly  whisper : 


DOLORES. 


77 


"  My  darling  wife !  •wlio  has  so  much 
reason  to  be  happy  as  I  ?  Who  can  claim 
such  a  treasure  as  mine  ?  Who  has  such  a 
peerless,  precious  wife  ?  " 

Alice's  marriage  had  been  productive  of 
sweet  results.  Her  husband  was  kind, 
considerate,  and  devoted ;  and  she  had  no 
care  on  her  mind,  except  the  separation 
which  the  War  rendered  necessary,  and  the 
fear  of  losing  her  pride,  her  protector. 

Meanwhile,  how  Avent  the  life  matrimo- 
nial with  Dolores  ?  Was  she  as  fortunate 
as  her  friend  ?  Has  the  wedding-ring  been 
a  talisman  to  her,  to  drive  away  care  and 
sorrow  ?  or,  has  it  pricked  her  finger  with 
sore  misfortunes  and  distress  ? 

Dolores  resides  at  the  Parsonage — a  par- 
sonage no  longer — and  patiently  watches 
by  the  bedside  of  her  husband,  who,  se- 
verely wounded,  writhes,  and  frets,  and 
howls  his  curses  throughout  the  livelong 
day. 

The  baby  amuses  himself  on  the  floor 
with  a  trifling  Confederate  toy,  which  the 
mother  has  thrown  to  him,  to  beguile  his 
infant  fancy. 

The  old  gayety,  the  merry  laugh,  the 
glad  sparkle  of  the  eye  which  belonged  to 
the  Dolores  of  yesterday  cannot  be  traced 
in  the  Dolores  of  to-day.  These  have  been 
uprooted  from  her  nature,  and  a  settled 
sadness  has  been  substituted. 

The  promises  to  which  Dolores  looked 
forward  on  her  bridal  morn  have  not  been 
fulfilled.  Her  face  gives  token  of  innumer- 
able weepings  and  unutterable  sufferings. 

Dolores  knows  Paul  Adams  now,  as  Ro- 
land Vernon  knew  him,  when  he  bade  her 
beware  of  the  wily  dissembler. 

Strange  to  say,  however,  Dolores  loves 
him  with  all  his  discovered  unworthiness ; 
and  this  love  enables  her  to  bear  her 
afflictions  with  unabating  fortitude  and  un- 
murmuring fidelity  to  her  wifely  duties. 

Adversity  makes  men  fiends,  sometimes ; 
but  noble  women — such  women  as  Dolores 
Adams — are  invariably  chastened,  strength- 
ened and  sublimated  by  its  visitations. 

"Dolores,  I  wish  you  woiild  send  that 
child  out  of  the  room,  he  annoys  me — I  don't 
like  children !  "  angrily  groans  the  wounded 
husband.     "  They  are  great  pests  !  " 

"  He  was  so  quiet  there,  that  I  did  not 
think  you  would  care  if  he  remained  in  the 


room.  Tou  know  I  have  no  nurse,  Paul !  " 
the  wife  answered  with  an  imploring  look. 

"  Take  him  out — shut  him  up  in  a  closet 
— put  him  to  sleep — get  him  out  of  the  way 
somehow.  He  is  not  in  pain — I  can't  bear 
to  see  anybody  look  contented  !  Take  him 
away ! " 

Dolores  caught  the  baby  in  her  arms, 
and,  pressing  him  tightly,  with  all  a  mo- 
ther's love,  carried  him,  struggling  against 
her  yearning  heart,  out  of  the  chamber  in 
which  Paul  Adams  lay.  The  baby  screamed, 
of  course ;  for  it  had  been  taken  away  from 
a  pleasant  amusement  to  gratify  an  irasci- 
ble father's  whim. 

"Now,  what's  the  use  of  making  him 
squall  so  ?  The  devil  be  off  with  you  both  ! '' 
yelled  the  brave  Captain  Adams — the  ty- 
rannical martinet  of  that  household. 

The  wife's  lips  quivered,  and  her  eyes 
moistened,  as  she  closed  the  door,  after 
passing  through ;  and  then  she  kissed  her 
baby  again. 

Her  thin  hands  were  clasped  together, 
her  eye  turned  upwards,  and  a  moan  of  an- 
guish escaped  from  her  lips. 

"  How  long,  O  Lord !  must  I  endure  ? 
How  long  before  I  will  be  released  from  the 
misery  of  this  unloved  existence.  0  God ! 
will  he  never,  never  love  me  ?  " 

The  rose  that  the  child  tears  into  pieces, 
leaf  by  leaf,  and  stamps  with  his  foot, 
emits  as  sweet  an  odor  as  when  it  blooms 
on  the  stem  :  and  the  heart  of  woman, 
crushed  by  the  disdain  or  violence  of  him 
into  whose  keeping  it  is  given,  loves  with 
as  deep  a  passion  as  when  most  tenderly 
cherished. 

Dolores'  lack  of  respect  for  her  husband 
did  not  destroy  her  affection  ! 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

It  was  Wednesday  during  the  session  of 
the  Spring  term  of  the  Superior  Court  in 
C town  ;  and  a  large  delegation  of  law- 
yers from  other  counties,  and  quite  a  crowd 
of  country  people  were  to  be  seen  on  the 
streets,  and  especially  on  the  Court  House 
Square. 


7S 


DOLORES. 


The  bell  bad  been  rung  by  tbe  sberiflF,  to 
announce  that  tbe  bour  for  tbe  re-opening 
of  Court  liad  arrived  ;  and  little  groups  of 
attorneys,  suitors,  witnesses,  and  jurymen 
•were  walking  in  tbe  direction  of  tbe  Court- 
Koom. 

Among  tbe  rest  were  two  persons  who 
were  sauntering  along  leisurely,  talking  as 
tbey  went. 

"  So  you  bave  been  kept  out  of  your  es- 
tate by  Vernon.  Ha !  ba  ! "  laugbed  one 
of  tbese  pedestrians.  "  One  of  Leigb's 
beirs  !  Wbere  did  you  get  tbat  ballucina- 
tion,  Jack  Morrisson  ?  " 

"If  tbcre's  anything  human  for  which  I 
bave  a  contempt,  thorough  and  imbouud- 
ed,"  replied  tbe  other — tbe  veritable  Jack 
Morrisson,  so  often  before  presented  to  tbe 
reader,  his  appearance  indicating  that  he 
bad  been  having  a  bout  with  dangerous 
John  Barleycorn  ;  "  it's  a  drunken  lawyer 
of  a  Court- week.  My  dear  General,  do  you 
know  that  you  are  very  drunk,  very ;  and 
tbat  you  are  exposing  yourself  to  the  ridi- 
cule of  tbe  rabble  ?  I  really  think  you  bad 
better  go  to  bed,  and  stay  there  until  you 
get  sober." 

"  Excuse  me.  Jack — excuse  me  !  I  shall 
stay  up  to  hear  the  Judge's  decree  in  the 
case  of  Morrisson  ts.  Vernon.  I  desire  to 
be  of  the  first  who  tender  their  congratula- 
tions. I  say,  Morrisson,  how  do  you  like 
the  answer  that  Vernon  has  filed  ?  Won- 
derfully favorable  to  your  little  aspiration, 
isn't  it'?     Ha!  ha!  ba  !  " 

"  General  Woodruff,"  stiffly  retorted  tbe 
ex-Corporal,  dramug  himself  up  with  a 
well  assumed  hauteur,  "  I  have  no  disposi- 
tion to  jest  with  you.  You  will  oblige  me 
by  desisting — your  familiarity  is  very  dis- 
pleasing." 

General  Woodruff  was  just  a  little  too 
deeply  in  for  it — bad  taken  just  a  few 
drinks  too  many  lo  care  a  picayune  for  Mr. 
Morrisson's  displeasure  ;  and,  being  an  in- 
corrigible tease,  continued,  much  to  the 
disgust  of  his  companion, 

"  Well,  that  secret  trust  illusion  wasn't  a 
bad  fancy,  my  dear  Corporal.  Did  it  give 
you  an  improved  credit  with  your  washer- 
woman ?  The  heir  of  a  cool  hundred  thou- 
sand, and  over,  ought  to  have  an  excellent 
standing  in  laundry  circles,  and  with  land- 
lords and  barkeepers.  But,  my  dear  friend," 


be  proceeded,  putting  bis  finger  to  his  nose, 
and  casting  bis  eye  at  bis  brother  counsel- 
lor with  a  good-humored  leer,  "I'm  just  a 
little  concerned  for  you — I  am  afraid  His 
Honor  will  faU  to  perceive  tbe  equity  of 
your  claim ! " 

"  Drunken  men  will  talk  !  "  responded 
INIorrisson  in  a  loud  tone,  stoi)ping  a  mo- 
ment at  tbe  Court  House  door,  around 
which  several  of  the  Counsellor's  patrons 
from  tbe  country  were  standing ;  who,  as 
he  approached,  held  their  mouths  agape  to 
catch  any  utterance  from  bis  lips,  so  great 
a  man  was  be  esteemed  to  be  by  a  certain 
retinue  of  admii-ers,  so  great  a  wit,  so  pro- 
found an  oracle.  Bowing  to  bis  constituen- 
cy, Morrisson  continued,  in  a  still  louder 
voice  tbat  all  might  listen  and  laugh  : 

"  If  you  positively  refuse  to  go  to  bed  and 
get  sober,  and  will  rattle  on  with  your  non- 
sense, may  I  beg  of  you  a  very  great  favor  ? 
Will  you  oblige  me  by  not  t-alking  any 
more  with  your  mouth  '?  " 

At  this  brilliant  scintillation,  the  gaping 
crowd  laugbed  heartily  ;  and  the  facetious 
old  anomaly  glided  past  the  General  and 
entered  the  Court-room. 

As  Woodruflf  intimated,  Vernon  bad  filed 
an  answer  to  Morrisson's  petition,  and  a 
very  conclusive  answer  at  tbat.  It  was 
drawn  with  extreme  caution,  discovering 
fully  enough  of  the  nature  of  the  trust  im- 
posed on  him  to  topple  over  Morrisson's 
air  castle  ;  and  yet  it  was  guarded  so  that 
the  real  status  of  tbe  estate,  and  the  nature 
of  the  obligations  coupled  with  its  inherit- 
ance, was  not  disclosed. 

Morrisson  bad  been  led  astray  by  a  very 
shrevs-d,  but  incorrect  guess  ;  and  had  stul- 
tified himself. 

When  the  Equity  docket  was  taken  up 
on  Tbiu'sday,  and  called  over,  a  very  brief 
examination  of  the  pleadings  was  sufficient 
to  evoke  Judge  Richards'  direction  that 
this  matter  should  be  dismissed. 

That  evening  General  Woodruff  and 
Counsellor  Morrisson  reached  tbe  culmi- 
nating point  of  tbe  fi'olic  on  which  they 
had  been  all  the  week.  They  spent  most 
of  tbe  night  together  in  a  room  of  tbe 
Eagle  Hotel,  the  principal  inn  of  tbe  town, 
having  repaired  to  this  retreat  to  keep  each 
other  company. 

Tbese  worthies  were  in  verj  different 


DOLORES. 


79 


moods  tliat  niglit.  Morrisson  was  in  a  rage 
at  having  rendered  himself  ridiculous  bj 
bringing  a  suit  in  which  he  was  obliged  to 
be  overthrown  ;  while  Woodruff  was  in 
great  glee  over  a  large  fee  which  he  had 
earned  during  the  week. 

They  came  do\vn  together  to  tea,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  a  very  friendly  humor  ; 
but  retired  about  eight  o'clock.  About  bed- 
time, Judge  Richards,  who  occupied  the  ad- 
joining apartment,  upon  going  to  his  room, 
overheard  them  in  a  loud  and  excited  dis- 
pute ;  but  the  angry  and  defiant  tones  soon 
subsided  into  a  rumbling  of  voices  such  as 
might  characterize  an  amicable  conversa- 
tion. 

An  hour  later,  however,  the  violence  of 
altercation  was  indicated  by  the  alarm  that 
proceeded  from  their  chamber,  and  the 
Judge  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  put  on  his 
clothes,  and  then  rushed  to  their  door,  which 
stood  ajar. 

He  got  there  just  as  they  ceased  wrang- 
ling the  second  time ;  but  not  too  late  to 
witness  a  very  ludicrous  scene — so  ludic- 
rous that  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  remain  and  witness  the  denouement. 

The  room  was  a  small  one  with  two  win- 
dows, one  on  each  side  of  the  fire-place, 
looking  out  into  the  stable-yard.  Its  furni- 
ture consisted  of  a  double  bedstead  with 
high  old-fashioned  posts,  on  which  was  a 
mattress  covered  with  clean  white  sheets 
and  a  blue  knit  spread,  and  set  off  with  a 
couple  of  immaculate  pillows ;  a  common 
I'jiue  table  ;  a  washstand  ;  a  bureau,  with  a 
mirror  attached.  A  smouldering  fire  burnt 
on  the  hearth.  The  table  in  the  centre  of 
the  room  contained  a  tin  candlestick,  hold- 
ing a  tallow  dip,  with  a  long  drooping 
wick  ;  two  black  bottles,  one  empty  ;  a  blue 
earthenware  pitcher,  with  the  mouth  bro- 
ken ;  two  green  glass  tumblers,  half  full 
of  a  reddish  liquid.  A  greasy  pack  of 
playing-cards  were  scattered  over  the  floor. 

The  friends  sat  opposite  one  another. 
Morrijson,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  table,  on 
which  his  feet  were  cocked,  his  back  turned 
to  the  fire.  General  Woodruff  sat  with  his 
back  to  the  door,  his  elbows  on  the  table, 
and  his  chin  in  his  hands,  in  an  attitude  of 
deep  musing.  Each  glanced  furtively  at 
the  other,  as  if  weighing  characters  and  es- 
timating the  chances  of  success  in  an  im- 


pending contest.     Both  were  evidently  at 
the  acme  of  a  horrible  debauch. 

When  Judge  Richards  got  to  the  door 
all  Avas  silence,  neither  of  the  lawyers  seem- 
ing disposed  to  protract  their  discussion. 
The  Judge  stood  and  gazed  at  them,  and 
turned  to  go  back  to  his  room  ;  but  he  was 
drawn  back  irresistibly — General  Woodruff, 
at  that  moment,  commenced  soliloquizing 
in  a  childish  whine  : 

"  I  know  a  lawyer  in  this  town,"  said  he, 
"  who  was  a  poor  boy — friendless  and  un- 
educated. He  had  some  intellect,  was  stu- 
dious and  industrious,  and  I  interested  my- 
self in  bringing  him  to  the  notice  of  the 
community,  and  raised  the  means  to  send 
him  to  college.  At  that  time  I  was  only 
seven  or  eight  years  older  than  he,  and  just 
commencing  to  practice  law.  When  he 
graduated  I  gave  him  tuition  in  my  law- 
office,  the  use  of  my  library,  and,  when  he 
was  licensed,  introduced  him  to  a  good  bu- 
siness. Afterwards  he  had  political  aspira- 
tions, and  I  got  him  nominated  for  the 
Legislature  and  secured  his  election." 

"That's  me  he's  talking  about  —  the 
infernal  old  vagabond  ! "  said  Morrisson, 
arousing  from  a  momentary  stupor,  and 
smiling  with  a  half-drunken  stare  at  his 
victim. 

"  Oh  !  Ingratitude  !  Thou — thou — why 
hast  thou  fled  to  brutish  beasts  ?  "  resumed 
the  General,  without  noticing  Morrisson. 
"  But,  although  I've  done  all  that  to  advance 
the  interests  of  that  poor  boy,  although  by 
my  patronage  he  has  grown  to  be  a  pros- 
perous and  successful  leader  of  the  bar,  he 
forgets  all  his  obligations  and  tramples  on 
me— tramples  on  my  feelings — tramples  on 
my  bleeding  heart.  Yes  ;  he  inveigles  me 
into  a  carousal ;  proposes  a  game  of  cards  ; 
makes  me  drink  deeply,  and  drinks  deeply 
himself  for  that  matter ;  cheats  me  and 
wins  all  my  money.     Oh !  oh !  oh !  " 

"General,  oblige  me  by  not  weeping. 
Tears  and  whisky  don't  mix  !  " 

"  Then  when  I  denounce  him,"  proceeded 
the  General,  paying  no  attention  to  Morris- 
son's  interruption,"when  I  complain  that  he 
has  cheated  me,  he  curses  me,  calls  me  a 
damned  drunken  fool,  and  winds  up  by 
throwing  the  pack  of  cards  at  my  head,  and 
knocking  over  my  tumbler  of  whisky ! " 

Morrisson  took  his  feet  from  the  table. 


80 


DOLORES. 


assumed  an  erect  position,  folded  his  arms 
Berencly  across  liis  breast,  and  looked  at  Lis 
tis-a-cis  ■with  as  straight  and  as  sober  a 
look  as  he  could  command. 

"  Yes  ;"  whined  the  General,  now  worked 
up  to  a  hysterical  condition  ;  "  yes,  I  found 
a  frozen  snake — like  old  Agricola — I  picked 
the  reptile  up,  and  fastened  it  in  my  bosom 
— I  warmed  it  into  life — and  now  it  strikes 
its  cruel  fangs  into  my  heart !  " 

"Listen  to  the  old  hypocrite!"  sneered 
Morrisson. 

"  I  will  have  vengeance !  He  thinks  I'm 
a  coward  ;  but  I'll  teach  the  ingrate  a  les- 
son.    Vengeance !     Vengeance !  " 

And,  with  this  menacing  outburst,  Gene- 
ral Woodruff  filled  one  of  the  green  tum- 
blers with  whisky,  tossed  it  off,  and  re- 
sumed his  meditating  posture. 

Morrisson  sat  still  fully  five  minutes. 
Then,  lifting  his  eyes  and  scrutinizing 
Woodruff's  face,  he  cocked  his  feet  upon 
the  table  again,  and  broke  forth  in  an  in- 
dignant strain. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  said  he,  "  I  formed 
the  acquaintance  of  a  young  aristocrat  %vho 
was  just  commencing  life  as  a  lawyer.  He 
"was  rich,  wild,  frolicksome,  and  apparently 
very  generous.  I  was  poor,  but  ambitious, 
and  was  struggling  to  lift  myself  from  an 
humble  position.  The  young  aristocrat 
was  kind  to  me,  and  aided  me  in  numerous 
and  various  ways.  Through  his  assistance 
I  got  a  collegiate  education,  and  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar  ;  through  his  patronage  I 
secured  business,  and  have  been  successful. 
After  growing  up  to  manhood  I  became  as- 
sociated with  him  constantly,  esteemed  him, 
loved  him,  was  grateful  to  him ;  and  for 
twenty  years  I  have  been  worshiping. him 
for  his  generosity,  and  proclaiming  his 
praises,  and  telling  the  world  of  my  obliga- 
tions to  him  for  material  comfort,  when 
friendly  services  were  most  needed.  Dur- 
ing that  twenty  years  I  never  suspected 
him  of  having  been  the  mere  agent  of  an 
unknown  benefactor,  never  had  the  remotest 
suspicion  that  he  was  practicing  a  deception 
— But  I  was  being  duped  all  the  while — 
duped — duped  !  " 

"  The  vile  slanderer !  "  moaned  Woodruff. 

"  This  person,  this  supposed  benefactor, 
was  a  gentleman  in  every  respect  but  one 
• — so  I  thought.     His  blemish  was  his  fond- 1 


ness  for  dissipation  and  his  contemptible 
cowardice  while  drunk.  These  were  hi.s 
only  faults — the  only  faults  I  could  see.  I 
never  imagined  that  he  was  a  constitutional 
liar ! " 

"  The  infamous  ■wretch  !  "  sighed  the 
General.  "  The  infamous  wretch,  to  libel 
his  benefactor !  " 

"  Well,  this  week,  for  the  first  time  in 
many  months,  I  met  him.  I  am  fond  of  a 
glass  ;  he  is  fond  of  a  dozen  glasses.  W^e 
got  drunk  together ;  kept  together  all  the 
time,  and  were  friendly  enough.  Then 
that  infernal  blunder  of  a  suit  was  dis- 
missed ;  he  made  fun  of  me  ;  ridiculed  my  , 
stupidity  ;  capped  the  climax  by  boasting  | 
of  a  large  fee  he  had  been  paid.  I  bore 
^'fith  him  patiently.  Afterwards,  we  came 
to  this  room  together  ;  he  proposed  a  game 
of  euchre  ;  we  played  ;  he  got  beaten  ;  got 
mad  ;  charged  me  with  cheating.  Still  I 
stood  his  insulting  behavior !  " 

"The  unconscionable  liar!"  ejaculated 
General  Woodruff,  taking  another  drink. 

"  I  stood  that — could  have  stood  more. 
Then  to  annoy  me  he  declared  his  knowl- 
edge of  a  secret  of  mine ;  ui^on  being 
pumped,  intimated  that  I  was  a  bastard  ; 
to  prove  this,  told  me  that  he  had  been 
acting  in  James  Leigh's  behalf  while  be- 
friending me  years  ago— confessed  himseli 
a  contemptible  dissembler.  I  could  bear 
no  more ;  and  I  threw  the  cards  at  his  head. 

1  wish  the  pack  had  been  made  ol 

lead  !  " 

"  The  savage !  "  shuddered  the  General. 

"  Now  that  man  has  threatened  me !  " 
continued  Morrisson.  "  I  feel  that  my  life 
is  in  danger.  I  shall  prepare  for  him ! 
Let's  see — how  shall  I  get  him  out  of  my 
way?" 

Pausing  a  moment,  the  ex-corporal  rose, 
and  assumed  the  position  of  a  soldier. 
Then  he  slowly  took  out  a  piece  of  to- 
bacco, cut  off  a  chew,  and  put  into  his 
mouth.  Having  seemed  to  ponder,  while 
going  through  ■with  this  impressive  panto- 
mime, he  gave  Woodruff  a  penetrating 
glance,  and  resumed : 

"  I  am  too  smart  to  kill  a  man  myself ; 
but  I  know  a  Dutchman,  who  has  murdered 
sis  men,  eight  women,  and  fourteen  babies. 
He  can  easily  be  bribed  !  " 

The  General  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat. 


POLOEES. 


81 


"  I'll  see  him — I'll  give  liim  a  good  round 
sum  of  money.  I  can  afford  this,  as  I  have 
won  three  hundred  dollars  to-uight.  He 
will  execute  my  plan." 

Morrisson  now  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Some  night,  when  the  man  I've  get 
marked,  is  going  from  one  dram  sh.op  to 
another,  top-heavy,  but  steady  in  the  back 
step,  he  will  look  towards  The  Meadows, 
and  see  the  sky  luiil  with  flame.  He  Avill 
rush  to  his  buggy  ;  will  spring  in  ;  he  will 
hasten  homewards  to  the  succor  of  his 
daughter  ;  he  will  get  in  sight  of  his  dwell- 
ing ;  he  will  hear  the  piteous  cries  of  his  child 
for  some  one  to  rescue  her  from  the  burning- 
mansion  ;  he  v.ill  dash  towards  the  house. 
As  he  jumps  from  his  buggy,  a  Dutchman 
will  knock  him  in  the  ditch ;  will  cut  his 
throat  from  ear  to  ear  ;  will  cram  him  into 
a  Lag  and  throw  him  into  the  river.  I 
KNOW  now  TO  GET  PE0PI,E  OUT  OF  MY 
WAY  !  " 

As  Morrisson  brought  out  the  last  sen- 
tence his  face  was  black  with' a  menacing 
scowl. 

"  Good  God,  Morrisson  !  You  wouldn't 
do  that,  would  you  ?  Look  here!  look  here! 
That's  too  horrible !  What's  the  use  of 
carrying  matters  so  far?  Let's  be  friends ! 
This  is  disagreeable  —  extremely  disagree- 
able ! "  whined  Woodruff,  thoroughly  so- 
bered with  fright. 

The  Judge  could  keep  in  no  longer,  and 
he  fairly  shouted.  Woodruff  did  not  lack 
appreciation  of  the  ridiculousness  of  his 
position,  and,  perfectly  recovered  from  the 
influence  of  a  week's  sprecing,  he  darted 
from  the  room. 

As  the  General  made  his  exit,  Morrisson 
waved  his  hand  in  his  loftiest  manner,  and 
remarked,  with  decorous  gravity. 

"  A  very  affecting  scene,  Judge  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

Vernon  was  with  his  regiment  in  time 
to  participate  in  the  battle  of  Fredericks- 
burg, which  closed  the  campaign  of  1863, 
and  spent  the  winter  quietly,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rappahannock. 
6 


In  the  spring  he  was  with  Jackson  when 
Hooker's  Hank  was  turned  in  the  Wilder- 
ness, and  was  in  the  charge  which  won 
the  heights  of  Chancellorsville. 

Paul  Adams  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
his  wound  ;  and  both  he  and  Vernon  went 
to  Pennsylvania  with  Ewell,  and  were  of 
the  brave  land  that  struggled  so  heroically 
but  unsuccessfully  at  Gettysburg. 

All  of  the  field  officers  of  the  "  Bloody 

F th"   were  wounded   at    Cliancellors- 

ville,  and  Vernon  commanded  the  regiment 
during  this  campaign. 

On  the  first  of  July,  when  this,  the 
grandest  and  most  important  battle  of  the 
war,  commenced,  Vernon's  regiment  was 
confronted  by  a  brigade  from  Vermont, 
which  was  led  by  a  bold,  dashing  and  reck- 
less officer,  who  fought  his  men  furiously 
to  repel  the  impetuous  attack  of  the  en- 
thufriiistic  Carolinian. 

Vernon  pressed  upon  this  brigade  so  vig- 
orously, however,  that  it  was  hurled  back 
with  the  loss  of  its  leader,  and  driven  for 
security  to  the  heights  on  the  other  edge 
of  the  town — those  heights  which  the  next 
two  days  were  the  battle-ground  of  the 
most  famous  contest  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. 

While  pressing  forward  after  the  retreat- 
ing Vermonters,  Vernon  was  attracted  by 
the  cries  of  their  seriously  wounded  leader, 
who  Avas  left  behind  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  victorious  Confederates. 

Vernon  stopped,  and  rode  up  to  this  offi- 
cer. The  officer  recognized  him  as  the  com- 
mander of  the  troops  against  whom  he  had 
been  fighting,  and  in  grappling  with  whom 
he  had  been  disabled. 

'■  Colonel,"  said  he,  "  will  you  commend 
me  to  the  attention  of  your  surgeon  ?  My 
wound  is  bleeding  profusely,  and  I  am 
growing  very  faint." 

"Certainly,  General  1  Corporal  Jacobs, 
fall  out  of  ranks  and  go  for  Doctor  Effing- 
ham. He  is  yonder  in  the  edge  of  the 
woods.  TeU  him  to  come  to  this  officer  im- 
mediately." 

Without  waiting  longer  Vernon  cantered 
on  and  joined  his  troops,  who  were  now  in 
full  pursuit  of  the  foe. 

"  Assuredly,  I  have  seen  him  before — but 
where?"  mused  General  Carson,  looking 
after  the  retreating  form  of  Vernon.     "  Ah ! 


82 


DOLORES 


yes  !  It  must  have  been  at  Saratoga  !  No ! 
I  remember  now — I  saw  him  on  the  deck 
of  the  Cosmopolitan.  Tlie  same  fellow  that 
proclaimed  himself  a  disunionist !  " 

While  pursuing  the  fugitive  Vermonters, 
Vernon  was  struck  on  the  thigh  by  a  frag- 
ment of  shell,  which,  -while  it  failed  to  in- 
flict serious  injury,  so  destroyed  his  ability 
to  walk  or  ride,  that  he  was  compelled  to 
leave  the  field  and  seek  surgical  aid. 

In  passing  back  to  the  hospital,  he  again 
encountered  the  wounded  Federal  General, 
and  halted  a  moment  to  inquire  whether 
he  had  received  attention. 

"  I  think  I  have  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you  before,  General,"  he  remarked, 
after  closely  scanning  the  features  of  this 
ofiicer.  "  You  were  on  a  Hudson  River 
steamer  in  September,  1859,  with  a  Doctor 
Sangstcr  from  New  York  ;  and  will  per- 
haps remember  that  your  conversation  was 
interrupted  by  a  young  fire-eater,  who 
longed  for  disunion  ? " 

"  Distinctly,  sir  ;  and  I  recognize  you  as 
that  young  fire  eater  !  " 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see  what  your  party  has 
brought  upon  the  country.  The  agricul- 
tural South  asserts  its  independence  ;  the 
commercial  North  loses  its  best  customers ! " 
said  Vernon,  recurring  to  the  subject  of  the 
conversation  to  which  he  alluded. 

"  Provided  you  succeed  ! ''  retorted  Gen. 
Carson.  "  But  you  AviU  not — you  will  be 
overwhelmed  ! " 

"  What !  When  we  are  strong  enough 
to  invade  one  of  your  most  populous  States, 
and  have  the  ability  to  whip  your  best 
army  on  your  own  soil !  See  !  Look  where 
your  comrades  fly  in  consternation ! " 

"  Wait  until  to-morrow  ! " 

"  To-morrow  we  will  commence  the  march 
that  is  to  give  us  Baltimore,  Wasliington, 
and  Philadelphia  !  To-morrow  there  will 
be  a  quaking— a  panic — a  revolution  in 
New  York ! " 

"  And  are  you  so  blind  as  to  hope  to  con- 
quer the  great  North  ?  " 

"  No  ;  not  to  conquer — we  do  not  desire 
that !  But  to  establish  our  independence  ? 
Yes— A  TnorsAXD  times,  YES ! " 

"  Young  man,  it  is  im.possible  !  The  Al- 
mighty has  made  this  vast  country  for  the 
home  of  a  single  nation.  Between  the  two 
Oceans,  and  the  Gulf  and  the  Lakes,  two 


governments  cannot  exist.  Ours  is  one 
country,  one  people,  one  nationality,  perpet- 
ually inseparable ! " 

"  Ha !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  Carolinian,  i)ro- 
ceediug  immediately  to  controvert  this  ab- 
surd proposition.  "  The  wide  extent  of  ter- 
ritory within  those  boundaries,  necessarily 
produces  a  great  variety  of  climate  ;  the 
climatic  influences,  aflfecting  the  people  and 
the  productions  of  the  sections  which  natu- 
ral laws  have  defined,  evoke  an  antagonism 
of  interests  which  develops  an  antipathy 
between  the  inhabitants  of  the  North, 
East,  West,  and  South ;  this,  in  turn,  dis- 
turbs the  harmony  and  destroys  the  inter- 
confidence  upon  which  all  Republics  must 
depend  for  existence.  Before  the  war,  a 
common  origin  united  the  people  of  the 
different  States  in  a  sentiment  of  friend- 
ship, which  modified  the  natural  instinct  of 
selfishness  that  ordinarily  controls  human 
action.  But  this  social  impulse  must  be 
short-lived.  An  influx  of  foreign  popula- 
tion is  fostering  the  growth  of  antagonism 
that  will  eventually  necessitate  disintegra- 
tion. Add  to  this  cause  the  passion  of  par- 
ty that  has  been  aroused  by  the  war,  not 
only  in  the  South,  but  in  the  North,  Avliere 
the  greatest  individual  oppression  has  been 
experienced  by  those  who  have  dared  to 
differ  in  sentiment  with  the  present  admin- 
istration, and  it  may  be  readily  foreseen 
that  the  United  States  will  be  ultimately 
subdivided,  whether  the  South  succeeds  or 
fails." 

"  A  very  philosophical,  and  a  very  ridicu- 
lous argument !  But,  suppose  it  were  well 
founded,  would  natural  causes,  evoking  a 
tendency  to  disruption,  be  powerful  enough 
in  their  operation,  to  overcome  the  central- 
izing force  of  the  bayonet  ?" 

"  The  sword  is  a  powerful  cohibitor  ;  and, 
perhaps,  it  may  be  able  to  arrest  the  march 
of  Nature's  army  of  events.  But  only  for 
a  moment !  You  forget,  however,  that  you 
must  triumph  in  the  gigantic  undertaking 
in  which  your  government  is  now  engaged, 
before  your  sword  can  be  made  a  terror  to 
new  malcontents ! " 

"  But  we  will  triumph  !  I  am  sublimely 
certain  of  the  result  !  Beat  us  to-day,  de- 
stroy our  army ;  a  month  hence  we  will 
meet  you  better  prepared  than  ever  to  make 
the  conquest  sure  !    The  North  grows  more 


DOLORES. 


83 


powerful  with  eacli  successive  reverse  that 
befalls  its  armies  :  the  South  grows  weaker 
with  its  every  victory  !  " 

Vernon  was  struck  with  the  pertinency  of 
this  reply,  and  forebore  further  argument. 
The  General  was  asserting  a  very  unpleas- 
ant fact  that  Vernon  did  not  care  to  com- 
mune with  too  familiarly.  He  feared  his 
faith  would  receive  a  shock  ;  he  feared  that 
he  might  become  a  Croaker. 

"Perhaps,  Colonel," — General  Carson,  not 
knowing  Vernon's  rank  or  name,  continued 
to  address  him  as  Colonel,  having  seen  him 
in  command  of  a  regiment — "  perhaps,  as 
you  are  a  North  Carolinian,  you  know  a 
Lieutenant  Wright,  who  was  Adjutant  of 
the  F th  North  Carolina  Troops  !  " 

"  I  do — I  do  1 "  cried  Eolaud  in  an  ex- 
cited tone,  overcome  with  the  contending 
emotions  of  hope  and  fear,  which  the  ques- 
tion aroused.  "  I  do  !  What  of  him  ?  Is 
he  alive  1  Is  he  weU  ?  Tell  me  !  Quick  ! 
quick !  " 

"  He  is  alive,  and  is  well !  "  responded 
the  General.  "  Do  you  know  a  Col.  Ashe, 
or  a  Captain  Vernon  ?  "  he  continued. 

"  Yes  !  both  !  I  am  Captain  Vernon ! 
But  why  ?  a  message  ?  a  letter  ? "  eagerly 
inquired  Roland. 

"  Then  if  you  are  Captain  Vernon,  this 
letter  is  for  you.  It  wiU  be  needless  for  me 
to  employ  a  flag  of  truce  for  its  transmis- 
sion, as  I  am  your  prisoner !  " 

Vernon  broke  the  seal,  and  with  eager 
eyes  devoured  the  pages  WTitten  in  the 
well  known  hand  of  Wright. 

"  I  found  him  on  the  field  of  Williams- 
burg frightfully  wounded,"  explained  the 
Federal ;  "  got  him  sent  to  Fortress  Mon- 
roe, where  he  has  remained  in  the  hospital 
ever  since.  A  foolish  attempt  to  escape  has 
precluded  him  from  the  enjoyment  of  the 
usual  mail  privilege,  and  prevented  him 
from  communicating  with  his  friends.  I 
saw  him  several  weeks  ago  and  he  per- 
suaded me  to  undertake  the  transmission 
of  this  letter,  which,  until  now,  I  have  ne- 
glected for  want  of  an  opportimity.  I  am 
glad  to  have  it  reach  its  proper  destination." 

Vernon  expressed  his  thanks  in  a  very 
cordial  manner,  and  taking  Carson's  ad- 
dress agreed  to  see  him  again,  suggesting 
that  it  might  be  in  his  power  to  serve  a 
good  turn  in  recognition  of  this  favor. 


Vernon  then  passed  on  to  the  Hospital, 
and  requested  Doctor  Effingham  to  have 
General  Carson  removed  to  some  place  of 
shelter  where  his  woimd  could  be  treated 
with  greater  care. 

The  morrow  to  which  the  Federal  Gen- 
eral apjiealed  came,  and  then  another  mor- 
row, during  both  of  which  days  the  fighting 
continued.  Vernon  went  back  to  his  com- 
mand on  the  morning  of  the  second  day's 
battle,  and  was  in  the  desperate  assault  of 
the  afternoon  of  the  third  of  July. 

As  the  Carolinian  had  predicted,  there 
was  quaking  and  a  panic  in  New  York ; 
but  there  was  no  revolution.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  fright  and  gloom  were  quickly 
converted  into  gladness  and  rejoicing. 

The  sublime  certainty  of  the  captive  was 
justified ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

When  Lee  resolved  to  retreat  from  Penn- 
sylvania, Vernon's  regiment,  together  with 
the  rest  of  the  brigade  to  which  he  was  at- 
tached, was  detailed  as  a  guard  for  the 
wagon-trains  of  Ewell's  Corps. 

Escorting  these  trains,  without  adven- 
ture, to  within  five  miles  of  Hagerstown, 
the  feeling  of  perfect  security  which  had 
been  entertained  up  to  this  time  was  dis- 
pelled by  a  heavy  cannonading  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Williamsport,  and  as  the  column 
moved  on  in  its  march,  this  firing  ap- 
proached nearer  and  nearer,  until,  at 
length,  it  became  so  close  that  the  trains 
were  halted  and  the  troops  were  pressed 
forward  to  a  point  about  one  mile  from 
Hagerstown  on  the  Waynesboro  road,  at 
which  place  they  were  thrown  into  battle 
line. 

From  this  line  the  Federal  cavalry  could 
be  distinctly  seen,  fighting  with  a  handful 
of  Confederates  in  the  town. 

The  brigade,  which  had  so  often  changed 

commanders,   was    under  General  J ; 

and  he  made  every  preparation  for  an  at- 
tack and  waited  for  the  enemy  to  advance. 
In  all  the  regiments  there  were  only  two 


84 


DOLORES. 


field  officers  present,  bo  heavily  bad  this 
command  lost  in  the  battle  of  Gettysburg. 

In  the  perfection  of  his  plan  of  defence, 

General  J detached  Lieutenant-Colonel 

D ,   with   two   companies   to  guard   a 

road  on  the  right,  and  Major  A ,  with 

two  comx)anies,  to  guard  another  road  on 
the  left,  himself  retaining  command  of  the 
main  force.  Next  to  himself,  Captain  Ver- 
non was  the  senior  oflBcer  on  the  ground. 

Captain  Vernon's  regiment  was  on  the 
right  of  the  line  and  rested  on  the  turnpike 
by  which  the  column  had  reached  Ilagers- 
town. 

General  J had   scarcely   completed 

the  disjiosition  of  his  force,  when  a  brigade 
of  cavalry  assaulted  his  line,  and  seriously 
menaced  the  safety  of  his  charge ;  but, 
fighting  stubbornly,  he  repelled  this  attack. 
A  squadron  belonging  to  a  Federal  regi- 
ment from  West  Virginia  succeeded,  how- 
ever, in  cutting  its  way  through  Vernon's 
centre. 

As  they  dashed  up  the  road  and  ap- 
proached his  position,  Vernon  gave  them  a 
volley  at  fifty  yards  ;  and,  hastily  ordering 
his  men  to  reload,  he  waited  until  they  tiew 
past  him  at  a  rapid  pace,  when  before  they 
could  sweep  round  to  charge  him  in  rear, 
he  brought  his  regiment  to  an  about  face, 
and  with  a  sure  aim  delivered  an  effective 
fire,  emptying  nearly  every  saddle. 

This  was  a  decided  success  ;  but  it  cost 

dearly.     Gene:al  J was  seriously  and 

dangerously  wounded,  and  forced  to  go  back 
to  the  trains. 

Now  every  indication  threatened  a  re- 
newal of  the  attack.  Swarming  squadrons 
were  galloping  into  line,  and  confronting 
the  devoted  little  band  whose  command,  by 
a  most  unusual  accident  of  war,  was  de- 
volved upon  Captain  Vernon. 

The  yoimg  officer  did  not  falter  a  mo- 
ment.     Leaving  the    "  Bloody    F th  " 

in  charge  of  its  senior  ofiicer,  he  sprang 
upon  one  of  the  horses  which  his  men  liad 
captured,  his  own  having  been  shot  under 
him  at  Gettysburg,  and  galloped  from  regi- 
ment to  regiment,  issuing  instructions  to 
his  subordinates  with  great  calmness,  and 
inspiring  the  men  with  courage  by  his  ex- 
hortations. 

"There's  no  chance  for  life  except  in 
fighting.     We  must  drive   them  back  or 


die  in  our  tracks.  If  you  will  sustain  me, 
I  can  whip  twice  their  number.  It's  In- 
fantry against  Cavalry!  ^Vho  can  doubt 
the  result  ?  " 

Talking  thus,  imj^ressing  every  soldier 
with  his  own  determined  valor,  his  example 
was  worth  a   brigade  of  veterans. 

Ten  regiments  of  U.  S.  Cavalry  now 
formed  in  the  fields  in  Vernon's  front, 
lie  instantly  divined  their  intention,  and 
nerved  himself  for  the  struggle. 

His  position  was  a  very  trying  one — very 
embarrassing.  This  was  his  first  battle 
while  in  supreme  command.  He  was  with- 
out artillery,  while  the  enemy  had  placed 
three  field,  batteries  in  position  to  play 
upon  his  line.  If  defeated  ail  of  the  bag- 
gage and  all  of  the  wounded  men  of  the 
Corps  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
Federals. 

But  Captain  Vernon  fortified  himself 
with  patience  and  waited  fearlessly. 

The  Federal  bugles  sounded.  The  horse- 
men moved  forward  at  a  trot.  They  came 
within  musket  range.  They  dashed  ahead 
at  a  furious  pace  with  their  sabres  flashing 
above  their  heads. 

On  they  swept.  Within  two  hundred 
yards.  Within  one  hundred  a-nd  fifty 
yards.  Within  seventy-five  yards.  Ver- 
non did  not  discharge  a  gun. 

On  they  swept.  Within  thirty  yards. 
In  a  second's  ride  of  Vernon's  line. 

"  FIRE !  " 

The  word  of  command  rang  alonsr  the 
Confederate  line.  A  sheet  of  flame  flashed ; 
a  terrific  roar  rose  ;  a  wild  cheer  resounded. 

The  charging  squadrons  held  up.  Rider- 
less horses  rushed  frantically  along  to  the 
rear.  The  whole  Federal  line  broke.  Offi- 
cers called  back  their  men.  The  bugle 
pealed  its  rallying  signal.  They  re-formed 
and  prepared  for  another  dash. 

The  buglers  put  their  pieces  to  their  lips. 
Men  rose  up  in  their  stirrups,  and  clutched 
their  sabre  hilts  more  firmly.  Then  the 
first  note  of  the  charge  was  sounded. 

HARK! 

A  Confederate  yell !  The  booming  of 
Confederate  cannon  !  Jeb  Stuaet's  loxg 
BLACK  plume!  THE  CLATTER  OF 
MANY  HOOFS! 

Two  brigades  of  Confederate  Cavalry 
came  plunging  behind   the  great   Raider. 


DOLORES. 


85 


Two  more  came  plunging  beliind  Fitz  Lee. 
One  brigade  of  Mounted  Infantry  followed 
Jenkins'  lead. 

Stuart  paused.  He  waved  liis  bat  above 
bis  bead.    He  gave  an  exultant  cry. 

"We've  Surrounded  Tuem  !  — 
CHARGE ! "  Consternation  was  de- 
picted in  tbe  features  of  every  Federal's 
face. 

"Attention!  Forward  March!  — 
CHARGE  !  "sbouted Vernon,  ecboing  Stu- 
art's command. 

In  serried  ranks  tbe  Infantry  pressed  for- 
ward, as  if  cbarging  a  battery  instead  of 
advancing  against  a  division  of  Cavalry. 
In  a  moment,  Vernon's  men  were  upon  tbe 
enemy ;  and,  after  delivering  one  tremen- 
dous volley,  clasbed  tbeir  bayonets  witb 
tbe  foemen's  sabres. 

Ab!  It  was  a  spectacle  to  bebold — a 
sublime  spectacle  for  a  second  ! 

Tben  Stuart's  sabres  joined  Vernon's 
bayonets.     Tben  tbe  work  was  done. 

"  Wbose  brigade  ?  "  sbouted  Stuart. 

"  General  J 's,"  replied  Vernon. 

"  Wliere  is  tbe  General  ?  " 

"  Badly  wounded,  sir." 

"  Wbere  ? " 

"  Back  at  tbe  trains." 

"  Wbo  is  in  command  bere  ?  " 

A  ludicrous  figure  tbe  brigade  commander 
cut :  A  badly  used  wool  bat,  bound  witb  a 
red  cord  and  tassel,  very  mucb  soiled,  sat 
on  a  bead  that  was  covered  witb  bloused 
golden  bair,  knotted  and  uncombed,  its  flap- 
ping brim  sbading  an  eye  tbat  glared  like 
an  enraged  tiger's  and  lit  up  a  face,  covered 
witb  a  scraggy,  dirty,  brownisb  beard,  tbat 
bid  every  feature  but  a  magnificently 
cbisseled  nose.  A  long  grey  coat,  unbut- 
toned, worn  out  at  tbe  elbows,  and  without 
ornament  or  insignia  of  rank,  dropped  its 
tails  ou  either  side  of  a  spavined  sorrel 
pony,  tbat  crouched  rather  than  stood  be- 
tween a  pair  of  legs  clothed  with  a  very 
short  pair  of  woolsey  pants,  out  of  the  ex- 
tremities of  which  a  pair  of  stockingless 
shanks  protruded,  and,  merging  into  feet, 
crept  into  a  pair  of  low  quartered  shoes  the 
toes  of  which  stuck  in  a  pair  of  wooden 
stirrups  tbat  were  suspended  by  a  couple 
of  leather  thongs  from  tbe  sides  of  a  bad- 
ly abused  Mexican  saddle. 


"  Wbo  is  in  command  here  ? "  repeated 
General  J.  E.  B.  Stuart. 

"  I  am,  sir  !  "  replied  the  object  just  de- 
scribed. 

Tbe  great  Cavalryman  bestrode  a  mng- 
nificent  charger,  with  as  lordly  an  air  as  a 
king  ever  bore.  He  was  uniformed  in  a 
splendidly  decorated  Major  General's  suit, 
and  seemed  to  have  just  bounced  from  a 
bandbox.  When  Vernon  spoke,  staring 
impudently  until  he  had  taken  in  every 
detail  of  the  picture,  Stuart  burst  into  a 
horse  laugh  that  could  have  been  beard  a 
mile,  and  exclaimed, 

"  The  devil  you  are !  ^Vl;ere  in  the 
deuce  did  you  come  from  1 " 

"General  Stuart,"  quickly  responded 
Vernon,  "  I  am  not  in  tbe  habit  of  letting 
indignity  go  unresented  !  You  take  advan- 
tage of  your  rank  to  be  insulting — it  shall 
not  shield  you,  sir !  " 

Stuart  liked  the  bold  flash  of  that  angry 
eye,  and  was  struck  with  the  appearance  of 
the  firm  lip,  compressed  with  indignant  re- 
solve. He  instinctively  felt  that  he  was 
confronting  a  gentleman. 

"  Jly  dear  sir,  I  really  intended  no  of- 
fense— but — but  I  could  not  desist.  You 
have  no  idea — it  is  utterly  impossible  that 
you  should  have — what  an  infernally  funny 
sight  you  are.  You'll  excuse  me,  I  know  ? 
Please  give  me  your  name  and  rank  ?  " 

A^ernon  complied  with  the  General's  re- 
quest. 

"  Well,  Captain,"  continued  Stuart,  "all 
I  have  to  say  is  this  —  you  command  a 
curious  sort  of  infantry.  I  never  saw  bay- 
onets clash  sabrefi  before.  That  charge 
was  superb — grand  !  Look  out  for  my  con- 
gratulatory order — yourname  shall  appear! 
Good-bye,  Captain." 

And  he  rode  away  whistling  "  Jine  the 
Cavalry." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

While  Paul  Adams  was  a  very  lucky 
soldier,  he  was  not  without  very  decided 
ability.  Chance  originally  gave  him  posi- 
tion ;  craftiness,  energy  and  pluck,  secured 


86 


DOLORES. 


him  rapid  promotion,  grade  after  grade, 
until  he  became  a  Colonel ;  while  well  di- 
rected newspaper  puffs,  not  wholly  unmer- 
ited, although  written  by  himself,  obtained 
him  an  excellent  reputation  in  each  office 
that  he  attained. 

Roland  Vernon  was  worthier  of  advance- 
ment, and,  had  his  capacity  been  published, 
as  Adams'  was,  he  would  have  achieved 
distinction  as  an  officer.  But  he  scorned 
to  employ  the  arts  which  he  knew  his  rival 
habitually  resorted  to  for  the  furtherance  of 
his  own  selfish  aspirations. 

After  serving  in  the  Gettysburg  cam- 
paign, Adams  became  tired  of  the  field  ; 
and,  through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Morris- 
son,  who  was  elected  to  Congress  in  the 
fall  of  1803,  he  obtained  a  transfer  to  the 
General  Staff  of  the  Army.  Subsequently, 
he  was  assigned  to  post  duty  in  North  Ca- 
rolina. 

In  his  new  position,  Adams  was  vested 
with  great  power,  and  found  many  opjior- 
tunities,  and  enjoyed  advantages,  for  con- 
ducting a  series  of  successful  speculations. 
In  these  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  reap 
eucli  profits,  that  although  his  capital  was 
very  small  at  the  outset,  he  rapidly  acquired 
a  very  handsome  little  fortune. 

Adams  was  always  a  keen,  sharp  sighted, 
forecasting  business  man.  He  never  al- 
lowed sentiment  to  contiict  with  interest, 
and  kept  his  judgment  clear  of  all  the  con- 
fusion which  enthusiasm  or  prejudice  pro- 
duces. So  it  was,  that  he  could  penetrate 
as  far  into  the  future  as  most  of  mankind. 

After  the  Confederate  reverses  at  Gettys- 
burg and  Vicksburg,  it  was  apparent  to  his 
disciplined  intellect  that  the  chances  of  ulti- 
mate success  in  the  attempt  to  establish  a  sep- 
arate national  existence  for  the  South  were 
greatly  diminished  ;  and,  while  he  was  too 
wise  to  bring  himself  into  disrepute  by  run- 
ning counter  to  the  current  of  popular  opin- 
ion by  expressing  the  doubts  which  he  en- 
tertained, he  acted  upon  them  continually, 
and,  suffering  the  heavy  discounts  required, 
converted  his  gains  into  gold,  and  other 
valuables,  as  fast  as  they  were  amassed. 

Demoralized  by  the  depraving  influences 
of  that  social  disorganization  evoked  by  the 
War,  and  surrendering  to  the  instigations 
of  the  insatiable  avarice  which  now  pos- 
sessed his  soul,  the  better  nature  of  this 


man,  if  he  ever  had  any  redeeming  traits 
of  character,  was  vitiated  ;  and  he  j)lunged 
reckles.sly  into  the  vortex  of  that  anarchi- 
cal life,  which  in  the  latter  months  of  the 
War  eviscerated  so  many  much  nobler 
spirits  of  their  -virtue,  honor,  manliness, 
and  regard  for  duty.  Naturally  inclined  to 
selfishness,  constrained  as  he  was  by  the 
inherited  and  unconquerable  vices  which 
descended  from  his  progenitors,  brutal  and 
treacherous  in  his  instincts,  he  became  a 
cunningly  disguised  Ishmaelite  —  making 
his  neighbors  and  acquaintances  the  readier 
victims  of  his  subtle  arts,  by  striking  deadly 
but  covert  blows,  while  scheming  most  as- 
siduously to  retain  their  confidence. 

Worse  than  all  this,  he  treated  his  wife 
with  great  inhumanity,  and  conceived  an 
intense  hatred  for  his  children.  He  was 
violent  in  his  home  ;  mean ;  and  grudgingly 
provided  his  family  with  the  necessaries  for 
a  wretched  support. 

Dolores  bore  all  this  with  more  than  a 
wife's  patience — bore  it  iintil  her  breaking 
lieart  could  tolerate  no  longer.  Her  condi- 
tion became  at  last  so  entirely  unendurable 
that  she  resolved  to  avoid  the  constant  abuse 
and  maltreatment  to  which  she  was  sub- 
jected. 

Li  this  frame  of  mind  she  pondered  for 
months  on  the  subject,  endeavoring  to  de- 
termine upon  the  course  which  would  at 
once  secure  escape,  and  occasion  the  least 
acrimonious  comment.  Once  or  twice  she 
thought  of  ad\'ising  with  Alice,  but  when 
she  thoroughly  considered  this  step,  she 
revolted  from  communicating  family  secrets 
even  to  so  dear  and  trustworthy  a  friend. 
Then  came  a  repetition  of  violence  to  pre- 
cipitate a  conclusion,  and  the  execution  of 
her  purpose.  She  decided  upon  a  plan 
which  she  thought  would  accomplish  her 
design  with  greatest  certainty  and  with 
least  discredit  to  herself. 

But  Dolores  needed  money  to  succeed  in 
this  imdertaking. 

She  called  on  Alice;  told  her  that  she 
was  in  need  of  a  sum  of  money  to  carry 
out  a  scheme  upon  which  she  had  deter- 
mined ;  asked  the  loan  of  the  amount.  Al- 
ice signified  her  willingness  to  oblige  ;  re- 
gretted that  she  hadn't  the  money  ;  would 
write  to  her  husband  for  it,  and  be  delight- 
ed to  accommodate  her.    Dolores  preferred 


DOLORES. 


87 


not  to  have  Vernon  know  that  she  had 
made  such  an  application.  What  would 
he  think  of  her  coming  to  him  with  such  a 
request,  and  so  forth  ?  Alice  would  obviate 
all  unpleasantness  by  asking  for  the  money 
as  if  wanted  for  her  own  use.  Dolores  was 
all  gratitude. 

A  week  passed  ;  ten  days  passed  ;  two 
weeks  passed  :  Then  came  a  letter  from 
Roland.  The  letter  was  opened,  and  there 
was  a  check.  Of  course  Alice  could  be 
spared  that  much  and  ten  times  more  if  she 
wanted  it ;  and  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  to 
doubt  it  ! 

Alice  was  flattered  by  Roland's  confi- 
dence, delighted  by  his  generosity,  pleased 
at  his  rebuke.  Besides,  she  was  rejoiced 
on  her  friend's  account,  and  very  curious  ; 
60  she  sent  for  her. 

Dolores  responded  to  this  call. 

Alice  gave  her  the  money — a  small  sum  ; 
only  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  gold. 

Dolores  expressed  her  thanks  warmly. 

Alice  was  quite  sure  she  was  as  much 
gratified  in  lending. 

But  how  her  curiosity  annoyed  her  !  It 
was  horrible  !  What  on  earth  could  Dolo- 
res want  with  the  money  ? 

Dolores  was  not  communicative. 

Alice  wouldn't  ask  her  right  plump ;  but 
she  would  find  out.  She  would  keep  her 
eyes  open.     Trust  her  for  that ! 

Dolores  returned  home. 

Alice's  curiosity  became  wrought  up  to  a 
high  pitch.  Why  didn't  Dolores  get  the 
money  from  Paul  ?  He's  rich  now,  they 
say  !  But  notliing  occurred  to  satisfy  her 
excited  mind^nothing  for  two  or  three 
days. 

Then  early  one  morning  she  heard  a 
piece  of  news. 

Dolores,  her  children,  Mrs. Vaughn, 

WERE  GONE — FLED  FROM  PAUL  ADAMS' 
HOUSE  ! 

Alice  regretted,  but  did  not  uncharitably 
condemn  the  step  !  She  k)iew  Paul  Adams  ; 
knew  what  Dolores  had  suffered  ;  knew  the 
cause  of  the  flight. 

The  gossips  traduced  Dolores,  of  course  ; 
shook  their  heads  wisely  and  intimated 
that,  for  a  married  woman,  she  was  always 
too  fond  of  attention  from  other  gentlemen 
than  her  husband ;  and — waited   for  the 


next  seven  days'  wonder  to  chatter  about 
with  one  another. 

Dolores  left  two  powerful  friends  behind : 
Alice  defended  her  to  the  last ;  and  her 
mother-in-law,  Mrs.  Col.  Vernon,  convinced 
by  her  confidence,  soon  became  an  ally  in 
protecting  the  fair  name  of  the  fugitive. 

Where  and  why  had  she  gone  ? 

The  question  remained  unanswered  for 
mouths — unanswerable  by  all  save  Paul 
Adams.  He  knew,  but  pretended  igno- 
rance. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

During  the  first  two  years  of  the  war. 
Col.  Vernon  was  in  Congress;  but,  in  the 
latter  part  of  1863,  the  President  called  him 
to  a  more  important  station,  which  he  re- 
luctantly accepted. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Roland  that  his  fa- 
ther enjoyed  the  influence  which  his  office 
conferred  ;  for,  as  soon  as  he  got  back  from 
Pennsylvania,  he  applied  to  secure  a  special 
exchange  of  General  Carson  for  Jock 
Wright  and  any  two  other  subalterns.  Af- 
ter encountering  several  obstacles  and  sur- 
mounting them.  Col.  Vernon  succeeded  in 
obtaining  the  desired  favor  for  his  son,  and 
effected  the  exchange. 

As  Col.  Ashe  threatened  to  do,  he  resigned 
as  soon  as  he  reached  Virginia  ;  but  he  was 
prevailed  upon  to  remain  in  the  service 
with  a  Brigadier-General's  commission.  By 
the  promotion  of  Col.  Ashe,  Roland  went 
up  to  the  majority  of  the  "  Bloody  F — th." 

And  so  matters  stood  in  the  fall  of  1863. 
Then  came  the  campaign  that  ended  at 
Mine  Run.  Then  followed  a  long  rest. 
Then  the  spring  campaign  of  1864. 

While  leading  his  men  in  a  desperate 
charge  Roland  Vernon  was  dangerously 
wounded  at  Spottsylvania.  From  the  bat- 
tle-field he  was  carried  to  the  hospital  of 
the  Second  Corps,  in  which  he  was  subse- 
quently captured,  paroled,  and  then  lay  vi- 
brating between  life  and  death  for  two 
months.  This  hospital  was  uncovered  by 
Lee   when  he  moved  to  the  Northanna  ; 


88 


DOLORES. 


but,  altliougli  inside  the  Federal  Hues,  its 
inmates  were  most  of  the  time  free  from 
molestation. 

About  day-break  one  morning,  after  lie 
had  been  in  this  place  for  several  weeks, 
liowevcr,  Roland,  other  inmates,  attendants, 
and  medical  officers,  were  startled  by  the 
sound  of  guns  in  the  direction  of  Louisa 
Court-IIouse ;  and  all  of  them  became  rest- 
less and  fearful  that  they  would  be  dis- 
turbed by  the  combatants,  as  the  firing 
gradually  advanced  towards  them  during 
the  day,  and  ceased  about  night,  seemingly 
not  many  miles  distant. 

This  apprehension  was  not  groundless. 
The  next  morning  about  nine  o'clock  a  loud 
clattering  of  hoofs  heralded  the  approach 
of  a  largo  body  of  cavalrjnnen,  who  from 
the  peculiarity  of  their  cheers  were  known 
to  be  Federals ;  and,  a  few  minutes  later, 
with  sabres  drawn,  yelling  like  a  pack  of 
demons,  as  they  were,  they  dashed  into  the 
hospital  encampment,  and  captured  several 
hundred  men,  all  of  them  so  seriously 
wounded  as  to  be  unable  to  undergo  re- 
moval. 

Darting  from  tent  to  tent,  these  human 
fiends  sported  with  the  agonies  of  the  suf- 
fering captives.  Tiring,  at  last,  of  this 
amusement,  they  revelled  for  several  hours 
in  destroying  the  supplies  left  for  the  sub- 
sistence of  their  wounded  victims. 

Brutal  miscreants  ! 

Vernon  was  unable  to  move  on  his  rude 
bed  ;  but  he  watched  them  with  a  horrible 
hate  and  an  ungovernable  fury  as  they  ex- 
ulted over  his  unfortunate  comrades  with  a 
diabolical  malignity.  Then,  growing  des- 
perate, he  felt  under  his  head  for  his  re- 
peater. 

He  was  not  long  without  intrusion  him- 
self. A  foppish  Assistant  Surgeon  soon  en- 
tered his  tent,  followed  by  an  insidting 
crov.-d  of  privates  and  a  few  officers,  others 
gathering  outside  and  peeping  through  the 
hoisted  sides  of  the  marquee  to  enjoy  the 
sufferings  which  they  expected  to  see  in- 
flicted. 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  "  inquired  the  gen- 
tleman of  the  Medical  Staflf. 

"  A  paroled  prisoner !  "  replied  the  Major, 
exhibiting  a  certificate  of  the  fact  which  he 
stated. 

"  Ah !  From  North  Carolina ! "  exclaimed 


the  popinjay  Doctor.  "  That  is  the  most 
loyal  to  the  Union  of  all  the  Southern 
States.  I  am  glad  to  meet  a  North  Caro- 
linian !  " 

"  I  can't  reciprocate  the  feeling,  sir !  "  re- 
plied the  Confederate.  "  Besides,  sir,  you 
slander  my  State  !  " 

"  A  regular  secesh  !  "  cried  an  outsider. 

"  Young  man,"  continued  the  man  of  the 
lancet,  "  I  don't  understand  your  remark. 
Slander ! " 

"  Yes  ;  you  breathe  a  calumny  against 
my  State.  You  have  been  reading  extracts 
from  the  Richmond  Examiner,  and  have 
adopted  the  foul  aspersions  of  Pollard  for 
truth." 

"  Why,  you  don't  deny  that  your  people 
are  for  the  Union  and  against  rebellion  ?" 
responded  the  astonished  Surgeon. 

"  Sir,"  said  Vernon,  raising  himself  on  his 
elbow,  and  angered  by  the  impertinence 
and  presence  of  the  Yankee,  "  the  blood, 
the  brains,  the  wealth,  the  valor,  the  man- 
hood of  North  Carolina  are  all  enlisted  in 
the  cause  of  the  South  !  Only  a  few  Qua- 
kers, disappointed  politicians,  and  paupers 
are  for  your  accursed  Union! — But  you  an- 
noy me — you  irritate  me — leave  my  tent ! 
Damn  it,  I  can't  breathe  freely  in  the  at- 
mosphere that  you  inhale  !  " 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  torment- 
ors. 

"  I  want  to  examine  your  wound !  "  pro- 
ceeded the  Doctor. 

"  You  shall  not  do  it — I  have  been  pa- 
roled ! " 

"  '  Shall  not  is  a  strong  expression  ;  but 
'  will '  is  a  stronger — and  I  will  examine 
it !  " 

"  Do  you  intend  to  violate  my  rights  as  a 
paroled  prisoner  ? "  asked  Vernon  sharply, 
feeling  under  his  head  again. 

"  I  must  obey  my  orders ;  and  they  re- 
quire me  to  make  the  examination,"  was 
the  relenting  explanation. 

"  Be  quick,  then  ;  and  do  your  duty." 

The  Surgeon  drew  up  the  coarse  sheet ; 
unbandaged  the  swollen  limb,  and  looked  at 
it  a  moment  in  amazement. 

"  My  God,  what  a  wound  !  "  he  at  last 
ejaculated.  "  Minie  ball  passed  almost 
directly  through  the  right  ankle-joint,  en- 
tering at  the  internal  maleolus,  fracturing 
the  tibia,  and  issuing  from  the  tendo  Achil- 


DOLORES. 


89 


lis.  "Why  didn't  your  surgeons  ampu- 
tate ?  " 

"  Because  I  refused  to  permit  tliem  !  " 

"  But,  Major,"  persuaded  the  Doctor, 
merging  the  patriotic  tormentor  into  the 
Surgeon  and  liumanitarian,  "unless  your 
foot  is  amputated,  j-ou  will  certainly  die. 
Why,  you  have  erysipelas  now !  " 

"  So  I  have  been  informed  ! "  quietly  ob- 
served Vernon. 

"  This  will  never  do  :  I  will  operate ! 
Jones,  go  and  request  Doctor  Scalpel  to 
bring  his  chloroform  and  amputating  case 
to  this  tent." 

Vernon  waited  calmly.  lie  had  pjassed 
through  the  same  ordeal  before,  and  had 
conquered. 

As  he  saw  the  other  Surgeon  approach- 
ing with  a  mahogany  box  under  his  arm, 
followed  by  Jones,  who  was  bringing  a 
large  bottle  containing  the  anaesthetic,  he 
grasped  the  handle  of  his  pistol  and  re- 
solved to  inake  his  last  fight,  and  die  game, 
or  carry  his  point. 

"Doctor,  you  can't  amputate  my  foot!" 
This  was  said  with  a  forced  self-control ; 
and  Vernon  looked  the  man  of  the  knife 
boldly  in  the  eye  and  compressed  his  lips 
firmly. 

"  I  must !  Humanity  demands  that  I 
shall ! " 

"  Humanity  be  damned  !  "  echoed  Ver- 
non. 

By  this  time,  the  Doctor  had  finished  his 
preparations ;  and  was  about  to  have  Ver- 
non removed  from  the  bed  to  an  extempo- 
rized operating  table. 

"  When  I  was  paroled,"  said  A^ernon,  as 
the  Doctor  came  forward  with  the  chloro- 
form, "  I  gave  my  word  that  I  would  not 
take  arms  against  your  government  until 
exchanged.  But  I  did  not  promise  not  to 
resist  assassination — I  did  not  relinquish  the 
natural  right  of  self-preservation." 

Then  Vernon  drew  cut  his  weapon,  and 
levelled  it  at  the  head  of  the  frightened 
sawbones. 

"  Now,  if  you  don't  desist,  I'll  put  you  to 
death,  BY  GOD  !  You  damned  hellions  ! 
I'll  make  a  cokpse  of  the  first  who 
advances  !  " 

As  the  Confederate  glared  like  a  maniac 
at  the  astonished  group  of  Federals,  there 
was  a  sublime  tableau. 


Scalpel  trembled  and  then  shouted : 

"  SEIZE  HIM  !  " 

Vernon  changed  his  aim  to  Scalpel.  Then 
his  finger  pulled  at  the  trigger.  Then 
both  Doctors  ducked  their  heads.  Then, 
an  explosion ! 

Nobody  was  hurt ;  a  hand  from  behind 
struck  up  the  muzzle. 

Click  ! !  1     Click  ! ! !     Click  ! ! ! 

Three  revolvers  were  presented  at  the 
Carolinian's  breast. 

Click  !     Click !     Click  ! 

The  paroled  prisoner  had  re-cocked  his 
repeater. 

"Surrender    tour   arms,  or  we'll 

SHOOT  ! " 

Rising  in  his  bed  by  a  superhuman  effort 
— his  face  black  with  defiant  scorn — Ver- 
non spurned  them  with  horrible  invective. 

"  Surrender,  or  we'll  fire  !  " 

"  FIRE  !     YE  DAMNED  COWARDS !  " 

The  valiant  three  were  about  to  execute 
their  menace,  and  had  aimed  their  revolv- 
ers at  the  head  of  the  prostrate  officer. 

"  Back,  you  devils  !  Away  with  you — 
the  whole  batch  !  "  shouted  an  authorita- 
tive voice,  just  in  time  to  save  Vernon's 
life. 

Leaping,  with  long  and  rapid  strides,  two 
Federal  officers,  one  in  a  General's,  the 
other  in  a  Surgeon's  uniform,  rushed  towards 
the  tent.  As  they  entered  the  wolfish  pack 
scattered. 

"  Why  Vernon  !  "  exclaimed  General 
Carson.  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here  ;  and 
so  badly  wounded  !  " 

"  Thank  you.  General — thank  you !  "  was 
the  grateful  response.  And  Roland  seised 
the  hand  of  his  preserver. 

"Here  is  an  old  acquaintance — Doctor 
Sangster,  Captain  Vernon  !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  remember !     I'm  deligh " 

Vernon  fell  back  in  a  swoon,  overcome 
with  excitement,  and  exhausted  by  his  ex- 
ertion.   He  was  delirious  for  a  week. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

"You    here.   Doctor? — and    the    others 
gone !  "    Waking  from  a  heavy  sleep,  free 


90 


DOLORES, 


from  delirium,  and  encountering  tlie  anx- 
ious gaze  of  Sangstcr,  Vernon  uttered  this 
ejaculation. 

"  I  am  hero,  my  young  friend — and,  like 
you,  a  paroled  prisoner." 

"  How  ?  When  and  where  were  you  cap- 
tured ?  Who's  here  that  can  make  a  cap- 
ture ?    I  thought  everybody  was  paroled  !  " 

"  No.  Since  Genl.  Carson's  force  left  a 
small  guard  has  come  down  from  Gordons- 
ville.     I  was  taken  by  it." 

"  How  did  that  happen  ?  " 

"  When  Genl.  Carson's  command  retired 
from  here  a  week  ago,  I  went  with  it ;  but 
the  brigade  rested  for  the  night  about  five 
miles  off.  When  I  woke  next  morning  I 
found  the  others  gone  ;  and,  upon  getting 
up  to  go  after  them,  I  saw  a  couple  of  Con- 
federates approaching.  They  were  a  part 
of  the  guard  from  Gordonsville  ;  and,  see- 
ing me,  demanded  my  surrender.  I  com- 
plied ;  was  brought  here ;  paroled ;  and 
now  have  the  freedom  of  the  hospital." 

"  I  regret  your  mishap.  Doctor ;  but  hope 
your  captivity  will  not  be  impleasant." 

"  I  hope  so.  I  have  examined  your 
wound  and  feel  an  interest  in  your  case.  It 
is  a  remarkable  one,  and  I  am  surprised 
that  you  have  not  died." 

"  So  everyone  seems  to  think.  By  the 
bye,  I  owe  you  and  General  Carson  my 
gratitude  for  your  timely  rescue.  But  for 
your  opportune  appearance  I  would  have 
been  butchered." 

"  Our  arrival  was  fortunate  :  The  brig- 
ade came  on  ahead  of  the  General  and  my- 
self, else  the  ruthless  behavior  of  the  troops 
would  not  have  been  permitted.  As  soon 
as  Carson  reached  the  encampment  he  saw 
that  the  mischief  was  to  pay,  and  hurried 
to  the  relief  of  the  inmates  of  the  hospital. 
Your  tent  attracted  his  notice,  because 
there  was  a  large  crowd  around  it,  and  he 
came  here  first.  He  was  pleasantly  sur- 
prised to  find  that  in  performing  a  duty,  he 
was  protecting  an  old  friend." 

"  I  regret  that  I  was  so  soon  overpow- 
ered by  the  excitement  that  I  could  not 
make  a  fuller  recognition  of  his  service. 
You  say  you  have  examined  my  Avouud — 
will  I  recover  ?  " 

"  Assuredly !  Since  I  persuaded  your 
surgeons  to  try  the  Pennsylvania  fracture- 
box,  and  the  application  of  bran,  the  in- 


flammation has  entirely   subsided.      You 
will  soon  be  well,  if  you  will  keep  quiet." 

"  Then  I  must  have  some  diversion. 
Have  you  any  books  ?  " 

"  No.  That  is  to  say,  nothing  but  Dra- 
per's Intellectual  Detelopment  of  Euroiie, 
Avhich  is  rather  heavy  reading  for  a  sick 
couch." 

"Oh,  anything  will  do  I  Are  you  through 
with  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  have  just  finished  it,  and  will 
bring  it." 

Doctor  Sangster  went  for  the  book  ;  and, 
returning  with  it,  he  remarked,  as  he  gave 
it  to  Vernon, 

"  This  is  a  sequel  to  Draper's  Physiology 
— an  able  and  interesting  work  ;  and  writ- 
ten, as  that  was,  in  advocacy  of  the  "  Devel- 
opment Theory  of  Creation." 

"  Then  it  belongs  to  the  series  of  which 
the  Vestiges  of  Creation  is  the  introduction. 
I  have  not  kept  posted  in  the  literary  gos- 
sip of  the  age,  but  from  internal  evidence  I 
should  attribute  the  "  Vestiges  "  to  the  pen 
of  Draper." 

"  Crosse  has  been  suspected  of  the  author- 
ship !  "  observed  the  Doctor. 

"  But  the  suspicion  must  be  incorrect. 
Crosse  is  referred  to  in  terms  of  compliment 
in  the  work.  Besides,  if  Draper  is  not  the 
author  he  is  a  plagiarist — he  has  borrowed 
many  of  the  ideas  of  the  "  Vestiges." 

"  I  think  you  do  him  injustice.  La  Place 
is  the  founder  of  the  Theory — "his  Nebular 
Hypothesis  is  at  the  base  of  the  whole  fab- 
ric. The  author  of  the  "  Vestiges,"  and 
the  author  of  the  "Physiology,"  merely 
develop  his  idea.  Buckle  does  the  same 
tiling  in  another  direction.  None  of  them 
are  plagiarists,  however  ;  in  this,  that  each 
is  original  in  his  manner  of  pursuing  the 
theory,  and  in  extending  its  application,  by 
reasoning,  from  its  premises." 

"  Yet  all  of  them  speculate  on  a  borrowed 
capital.  All  are  but  walking  in  the  path 
cut  out  by  the  genius  of  the  great  thinker 
who  first  conceived  the  fundamental  thought 
of  the  theory." 

"  Very  true  !  Still  Buckle,  Draper,  Crosse, 
many  pothers,  have  contributed  by  their 
speculations  on  this  subject,  to  the  scientific 
thesaurus  of  the  century.  In  the  work 
which  I  have  just  brought  you,  Draper  car- 
ries forward  the  argument  which  he  com- 


A 


DOLOEES. 


91 


menccd  in  tlie  "Physiology,"  and  applies 
the  doctrine  of  Development  to  the  life  of 
Nations  as  well  as  to  the  life  of  the  segre- 
gate Man,  and  to  the  Cosmogony  of  the 
Universe.  But  read  it — I  will  not  antici- 
pate ! " 

With  this  remark  the  Doctor  left  his 
friend.  Vernon  followed  the  argument  of 
the  distinguished  Physicist ;  and  found,  as 
he  proceeded  in  the  discussion  of  the  great 
subject,  that  Draper's  ably  supported  Ma- 
terialism, accorded  with  tlie  creed  of  Phi- 
losophy which  his  own  speculations  in- 
clined him  to  hold  as  the  true  Cosmology. 
"What  he,  himself,  had  thought  and  ex- 
pressed, in  an  inchoate  manner,  was  set 
forth,  in  the  lucid  work  of  Doctor  Draper, 
with  graphic  power.  He  was  charmed  with 
the  greatness,  but  disappointed  at  the  moral 
cowardice  of  the  author. 

"  And  how  do  you  like  Draper  ? "  in- 
quired Doctor  Sangster,  a  couple  of  weeks 
later,  entering  Vernon's  tent,  and  finding 
him  engaged  in  the  perusal  of  the  closing 
chapters  of  the  book.  "  He  lends  to  the 
abstruse  subject  which  he  discusses  a  clear- 
ness of  dissertation,  and  floods  upon  it  a 
light  of  entertaining  information  that  ren- 
ders the  work  a  most  delightfully  charming 
and  readable  book  to  scholars  of  every  pro- 
fession." 

"  Yes  ; "  replied  Vernon  ;  "  but  it  does 
not  satisfy  me — it  is  illogical !  " 

"  True !  "  quickly  responded  Sangster. 
"The  utter  rejection  of  the  Mosaic  account 
of  Creation,  and  the  ridicule  of  the  earlj' 
Christian  Ciiurch,  with  the  facts  presented 
for  the  fortification  of  his  positions,  are 
feebly  sustained  assaults  against  the  truth 
of  History ! " 

"  There  I  disagree  with  you.  I  think,  in 
the  role  of  an  iconoclast.  Doctor  Draper  has 
Bucceeded  admirably.  I  find  no  fault  with 
his  propositions,  proofs,  or  conclusions,  as 
far  as  he  goes  in  that  direction.  Indeed,  in 
support  of  his  criticisms  of  the  Mosaic  Cos- 
mology, as  well  as  in  defence  of  his  merci- 
less ridicule  of  the  annals  and  traditions  of 
the  Church,  he  has  presented  an  invulnera- 
ble array  of  facts. 

"  How,  then,  is  he  illogical  ?  " 

"Why,  when  he  has  smashed  the  idol 
of  Christianity  into  flinders,  he  carefully 
collects  the  fragments  of  the  image  which 


he  has  destroyed,  and,  urged  by  a  fear  of 
denunciation  from  the  world,  endeavors  to 
refit  the  pieces,  and  flimsily  coheres  them 
into  a  very  defective  representation  of  the 
shattered  bauble ;  when  he  has  toppled 
over  the  superstructure  of  superstition,  he 
gathers  up  the  scattered  materials  —  the 
stone,  the  plank — and  with  them  essays 
to  erect  a  new  edifice,  without  the  strength, 
but  of  the  same  proportions  and  exterior,  as 
the  one  that  he  has  demolished.  Now,  if 
the  Nebular  Hypothesis  be  fit  to  found  a 
theory  upon,  that  theory  ought  to  be  devel- 
oped to  its  utmost  logical  conclusion,  no 
matter  what  preconceived  notions  in  phys- 
ics or  religion  are  brought  into  conflict 
with  it ;  and  the  true  philosophy  should 
stand,  the  false  fall.  Draper  has  not  dared 
to  do  this  :  he  has  shirked  :  he  is  afraid  to 
publish  what  he  believes ;  he  holds  too  re- 
spectable a  position  in  the  estimation  of  the 
Churchmen  to  proclaim  himself  an  infidel ; 
he  resorts  to  literary  agility  to  escape  odium. 
But  Draper's  failure  to  be  logical  does  not 
disprove  the  correctness  of  his  premises." 

"  Why,  Major,  are  yon  a  convert  to  Ma- 
terialism ?    Are  you  an  atheist  ?  " 

"Not  precisely!  I  do  not  know  what 
classification  is  suited  to  persons  of  my 
creed !  " 

Answering  the  interrupting  inquiry  with 
this  abrupt  reply,  Vernon  continued,  blurt- 
ing out  his  views  with  a  volubility  and 
emphasis  that  astonished  the  Doctor  : 

"  Draper,"  he  proceeded,  "  is  a  forcible 
advocate  of  Materialism,  but  a  poor  Phys- 
ico-Theologist.  He  has  intellect  without 
courage  ;  knows  how  to  search  for  and  find 
the  truth,  but  will  not  proclaim  it  when 
found.  He  does  not  love  the  Right  or  hate 
the  Wrong,  else  he  would  laugh  at  the 
denunciations  of  the  rabble  and  contemn 
the  invectives  of  society." 

"  Why  don't  you  declare  your  belief  pub- 
licly? You  ask  Draper  to  do  what  you 
are  unwilling  to  do  yourself." 

"  He  professes  to  teach  ;  I  am  merely 
an  inquirer.  Consequently  there  is  no 
obligation  resting  on  me  to  declare  my 
opinions.  Still  if  I  had  any  fixed  faith,  I 
would  not  hesitate.  But  I  am  in  doubt  as 
to  the  truth.  Draper  defends  a  theory; 
and,  therefore,  he  is  convinced  of  its  cor- 
rectness ! " 


DOLORES. 


"  Then  you  do  not  agree  with  the  believ- 
ers in  the  Development  Doctrine?" 

"I  am  not  convinced.  Still  I  cannot 
deny  that  I  incline  to  the  adoption  of  the 
cosmological,  physiological,  and  metaphysi- 
cal teachings  of  that  school." 

"  You  amaze  me !  Of  all  my  acquaint- 
ances, I  should  have  expected  you  to  be  a 
strong  Churchman,  you  are  so  radically  con- 
servative  in  your  Sociology  and  Politics !  " 

"  Because  of  ray  certainty  of  the  iucaiDaci- 
ty  of  uneducated  and  unpurified  masses  to 
govern  themselves ;  because  I  am  an  aristo- 
crat in  my  social  feelings ;  because  I  am 
opposed  to  mob  rule  in  government  and  in 
the  circle  of  my  acquaintance  ;  I  am  none 
the  less  an  ardent,  devoted,  zealous,  wor- 
shiper of  liberty.  But  I  want  order  first, 
freedom  afterwards.  The  sceptre  of  Great 
Britain,  with  the  security  and  protection 
of  stable  and  rigid  law,  for  me,  before  the 
reckless  Republicanism  and  Agrarianism 
of  the  American  Mobocracy." 

"  So'  I  have  understood  you  to  say  on 
several  occasions — but  I  thiuk  there  is  a 
conflict  between  your  views." 

"  Xot  so  !  "While  I  am  for  stability  and 
order  in  government  and  in  society,  I  am 
a  free-thinker.  Freedom  of  thought  never 
corrupts ;  excessive  liberty  of  action  al- 
ways brings  anarchy  and  ruin. 

"  But,  Vernon,  suppose  you  should  re- 
move the  restraints  which  Religious  Faith 
imposes  on  the  world  ;  supiKJse  you  should 
uproot  Christianity,  the  system  which  has 
best  subserved  the  end  of  keeping  individu- 
als in  a  state  of  subjection  to  authority, 
where  would  government  and  where  would 
society  drift  ?  "What  sort  of  morality  would 
remain  ?  " 

"  Ah !  but  I  would  do  nothing  of  the 
kind.  I  would  keep  the  Populace  in  their 
state  of  dependence  on  the  enlightened 
few.  To  that  few  I  would  give  the  utmost 
license  of  speculation  !  " 

"  You  would  establish  an  aristocratical 
despotism  of  intellect !  You  would  reduce 
the  millions  to  the  unfeeling  domination 
of  a  class  that  would  despise  them  !  " 

"  Admit  it !  Even  then  that  domina- 
tion woitld  foster  a  more  general  happi- 
ness than  the  world  can  now  boast.  The 
truly  enlightened  are  elevated  in  feeling ; 
the  elevated  are  ever  generous." 


"  But  how  would  you  educate  the  leaders 
to  the  high  degree  of  perfection  which 
your  conception  demands  V  " 

"  '  Aye  !  there's  the  rub  ! '  It  cannot  be 
done!  Therefore,  I  enditre  I  Endurance, 
after  all,  is  the  only  achiever  of  Good  : 
Endurance  of  your  Individual  Lot — Endur- 
ance of  the  conditions  Avhich  surround  you 
in  Religion,  in  Society,  in  Government." 

"  Then  why  do  you  assail  Christianity  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  assail  it !  You  make  a  com- 
mon mistake  in  supposing  that  a  lack  of 
faith  produces  a  disposition  to  attack — a 
mistake  which  grows  out  of  the  Christian 
custom  of  bflieving  and  then  endeavoring 
to  force  everybody  else  to  believe,  whether 
they  can  or  not,  whether  their  reason  ap- 
proves or  disapproves ;  and,  if  they  will 
not,  of  denouncing,  proscribing  and  perse- 
cuting them  into  hypocrisy.  The  Church 
says  the  Bible  is  true,  and  proves  the  as- 
sertion by  quoting  the  Bible.  The  Clergy 
denounce  when  they  cannot  argue.  But 
the  world  calls  for  proofs ;  and,  if  Christ- 
ian ministers  do  not  drop  invective  and 
prepare  themselves  to  use  the. weapons  of 
Reason,  they  will  very  soon  find,  if  they 
are  right,  that  their  ignorance  and  per- 
verseness  will  have  peopled  hell  with  In- 
fidels. But,  as  I  said,  I  do  not  assail 
Christianity.  I  respect  the  institution  as 
an  instrumentality,  imperfect  and  unin- 
spired, of  much  benevolence,  and  esteem 
it  as  a  Conservator  of  morals  and  society." 

"  Why  don't  you  endure  the  condition  of 
society  that  environs  you  1 " 

"I  do !  But  I  seek  to  elevate  its  tone, 
and  to  give  it  an  exclusiveness  that  will  be 
a  protection  against  the  Pariahs,  who  be- 
siege its  citadels." 

'•  And  why  don't  you  endure  the  system 
of  government  against  which  you  are  fight- 
ing?" 

"  I  do  not  fight  against  the  system  ;  but 
for  its  undefiled  perpetuation  !  I  fight  for 
the  same  Constitution  that  your  armies 
pretend  to  be  upholding ;  but  I  construe 
its  provisions  difiurently  from  the  peoj^le 
of  your  section  !  " 

"  And,  I  am  happy  to  add,  you  are  fight- 
ing under  a  false  impression,  and  are  ex- 
pending your  valor  in  vain !  " 

"  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  Confeder- 
ate; 


DOLORES. 


93 


There  was  sometliing  in  Roland  Ver- 
non's laugh  that  startled  Doctor  Sangster. 
He  looked  at  the  sick  man  a  moment  and 
then  turned  despondently  away. 

"  Too  much  morphine !  "  he  muttered 
as  he  left.  "It's  unbalancing  his  intel- 
lect ! " 

Doctor  Sangster  was  a  Psychiater,  and 
he  feared  that  the  wild  theories  of  his  pa- 
tient, and  the  glittering  eye  with  which 
their  utterance  was  emphasized,  were  in- 
dicia of  incipient  insanity. 

In  the  course  of  several  weeks  the  physi- 
cian had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Vernon  de- 
part for  home,  and  he  was  pleased  to  be- 
lieve that  his  fears  for  him  were  unfounded, 
and  that  there  was  no  need  of  apprehension 
that  Vernon  would  suffer  from  the  dreaded 
cerebro-pschical  disorder,  whose  visitation 
had  been  fully  expected. 

"  I  little  anticipated  the  circumstance 
that  has  thrown  us  together,  Major  Ver- 
non," said  the  Doctor  when  Roland  was 
about  leaving  the  hospital,  "  when  we  met 
several  years  ago  on  the  deck  of  the  Cos- 
mopolitan ;  but,  for  myself,  I  can  say  sin- 
cerely, tliat  the  meeting  though  imexpect- 
ed  has  been  a  pleasant  one.  Though  Ene- 
mies in  War,  I  hope  that  we  may  ere  long 
prove  very  good  Friends  in  Peace." 

"  Thank  you,  Doctor  I  I  heartily  recip- 
rocate your  kindly-expressed  Avish.  And 
now,  in  bidding  you  good  bye,  let  me  re- 
turn my  thanks  for  your  kindnesses.  They 
shall  not  go  unrequited. 

Then  the  Federal  Surgeon  and  the 
"  Rebel  "  Major  shook  hands  and  parted. 

Vernon  did  not  forget  his  promise.  In 
three  weeks  Sangster's  kindness  was  re- 
quited by  an  exchange. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Now  Vernon  was  at  home,  and  there  was 
rejoicing  at  the  Cottage  and  at  Rushbrook. 
Tlie  sword  of  the  warrior  was  hung  on  the 
wall,  and  the  stern  alarum  of  tlie  battle- 
field smote  his  ear  no  more.  In  place  of 
the  trusty  blade  he  had  so  long  Avielded  in 
the  consciousness  of  a  splendid  bravery,  the 


cripple  now  carried  the  supporting  crutch. 
In  ears  that  had  so  frequently  tingled  with 
the  whistling  of  bullets  and  the  shout  of 
the  charge,  the  voices  of  love  and  the  sounds 
of  domestic  harmony  now  murmured  a  mu- 
sical lullaby. 

He  fled  the  village,  taking  Alice  with 
him  to  Rushbrook.  Here  he  lived  again 
the  happy  days  of  his  boyhood.  The  winds 
that  swept  through  the  tops  of  the  trees  in 
the  park,  in  which  he  had  played  so  often 
years  agone,  seemed  to  carol,  all  through 
the  months  of  recreation,  which  were  now 
vouchsafed  after  years  of  peril  and  priva- 
tion, the  peaceful  song  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake  : 

"Soldier  rest!    Tliy  vrarf;ire  o'er, 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking: 
Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more ; 
Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking." 

And  what  a  season  of  delight  Roland 
Vernon  enjoyed  here  ;  surrounded  with  the 
recollections  of  his  childhood  ;  living  in  the 
old  homestead  about  Avhich  so  many  thou- 
sand sweet  associations  clustered ;  petted 
by  the  mother  whose  fondness  had  ca- 
ressed and  whose  counsels  had  encouraged 
him  through  the  weary  hours  of  petty 
struggle  and  boyish  despondency ;  com- 
muning with  the  wisdom  of  his  father,  and 
learning  to  love  and  appreciate  him  more 
as  he  grew  older  ;  joined  in  all  his  moods 
of  gayety  or  sorrow,  romance  or  studious- 
ness,  benevolence  or  patriotism,  by  the  af- 
fectionate sympathy  of  the  darling  of  his 
soul — the  precious  wife  whose  love  made 
Earth  appear  to  him  a  blessed  Elysium. 

In  subsequent  times — times  of  dei^ression, 
darkness,  trouble,  sorrowing,  appalling  dis- 
tress— times  when  existence  became  an  in- 
tolerable burden  ;  when  annihiiation  of 
the  body,  aye  !  arid  of  the  soul  too,  would 
have  been  an  ineffable  tenderness  of  mercy  ; 
how  frequently  he  reverted  to  these  mo- 
ments of  exquisite  joy,  with  a  sad  longing 
for  what  could  never  be — the  restitution  of 
the  murdered  happiness  of  the  past !  How 
often  his  sickened  heart,  wailing  with  the 
misery  of  intense  agony,  re-echoed  the  pa- 
thetic accents  of  a  deferred  hope — nay,  a 
crushed,  blighted,  dead  hope  ! — as  syllabled 
in  the  melancholy  song  of  poor  Tom 
Hood— 


94 


DOLORES 


"  I  remember,  I  remember,  tbe  house  where  I  was 

born. 
And  the  little  window  where  the  sun  came  peeping  in 

at  morn ; 
It  never  came  a  wink  too  soon,  nor  brought  too  long  a 

day; 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  winds  had  borne  my  breath 

away ! " 

Alas  I  alas  I  Happiness  is  an  ephemeral 
flower  ;  it  blooms  on  its  stem  to-day  ;  and 
the  air  is  laden  with  the  sweetness  of  its 
odors — its  leaves  fall  upon  the  ground  at 
night ;  and  on  the  morrow  its  loveliness,  its 
perfumes,  are  gone  ! 

Vernon  was  soon  ruthlessly  separated 
from  his  wife  and  child,  and  hurried  away 
from  them  to  perform  his  last  patriotic  act 
of  self-sacrifice  for  the  cause  which  he  loved. 
The  arch  fiend  Sherman,  rivaling  the  bar- 
baric hordes  that  sacked  Italy,  was  sweep- 
ing with  his  Vandals  towards  C town, 

and  with  a  mercilessly  inhuman  malignity 
bringing  destruction  and  devastation,  torch 
and  rope,  as  Ids  cherished  instruments  of 
conquest. 

^Vhen  Sherman  came,  although  Roland 
Vernon  was  stUl  disabled  for  active  service, 
he  felt  that  he  would  be  giiilty  of  deserting 
his  country  if  he  remained  in  C town. 


Yet  if  he  stood  by  his  colors  and  went  awaj', 
he  would  be  guilty  of  deserting  his  wife 
and  child,  and  be  compelled  to  leave  them 
to  the  mercy  of  an  unpitying  and  unspar- 
ing foe. 

It  was  a  difficult  choice  for  him  to  make  ; 
but  he  did  not  shrink.  He  determined  to 
go  ;  and  in  this  resolution  he  was  sustained 
by  the  approval  of  his  noble  wife,  who  held 
that  his  first  duty  was  to  the  country. 
And  so  he  went  away  from  Rushbrook,  im- 
pelled by  a  sense  of  honor  which  he  was 
forced  to  obey,  but  feeling  that  the  sacrifice 
would  achieve  nothing  for  the  cause  in 
which  it  was  made.  O  Fate !  how  cruel 
are  thy  decrees !  0  Duty  !  how  relentless 
are  thy  demands ! 


Sherman    and    his   bummers    came    to 

C town.     The  town  was  sacked  ;  many 

buildings  were  devoured  by  the  flames 
kindled  by  the  heartless  conqueror.  Rush- 
brook  was  gutted  and  the  Veruons  driven 

from  their  home.      The  C to^^•n  Bank 

was  entered,  its  vaults  were  opened,  and 
valuables  and  papers  carried  away — among 
the  rest  Roland  Vernon's  Deeds  of  Trust ! 


BOOK    IV. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  South  was  overrun.  The  Confed- 
erate armies  were  overpowered.  The 
troops,  with  their  paroles  in  their  pockets, 
returned  to  their  homes.  The  yoke  of  the 
conqueror  was  placed  on  the  neck  of  a  brave 
people.  Desolation,  devastation,  political, 
commercial,  financial,  overwhelming  ruin 
fell  upon  the  subj  ugated  land. 

Vernon,  among  the  rest  of  the  people  of 

C town,  lost  heavily.     Of  a  fortune  of 

a  quarter  of  a  million,  he  saved  only  about 
ten  thousand  dollars.  The  community  of 
which  he  was  a  member,  was  a  sort  of  Tad- 
mor  in  the  Wilderness,  cut  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  connected  with  none  of 
the  great  centres  of  business.  Its  citizens 
were  unsophisticated,  and  had  devoted 
themselves  to  the  cause  of  the  South  an  the 
beginning  of  the  War  with  unselfishness 
and  a  sincere  purpose,  and  throughout  the 
struggle  behaved  as  became  true  patriots. 
Even  such  creatures  as  Morrisson  and 
Adams  were  forced  by  public  sentiment  to 
bear  a  hand  in  the  struggle,  and  required 
to  endure  the  common  sacrifices.  Conse- 
quently their  faith  in  a  favorable  result, 
and  their  innocence  of  the  spirit  of  specula- 
tion which  was  rife  elsewhere  during  the 
progress  of  the  contest,  led  the  people  of 

C town  into  the  blind  conviction  that 

Confederate  bonds  were  the  best  of  aU  in- 
vestments ;  and,  when  the  great  aAvakening 
came,  they  found  themselves  without  any 
capital  but  their  honesty  and  their  real  es- 
tate, both  greatly  diminished  in  value  by 
the  consequences  of  defeat. 

When  Paul  Adams  went  back  to  C 


town,  he  was  by  far  the  wealthiest  man  in 
the  town.  With  thirty  thousand  doUars  in 
his  pocket,  he  was  properly  esteemed  a  ncv- 
hob  in  the  midst  of  the  general  wreck  of 
means  by  which  he  was  surrounded.  He 
might,  with  this  snug*  little  fortune,  have 
lived  the  balance  of  his  days,  had  he  been 
disposed,  enjoying  every  comfort  of  life 
and  retaining  the  respect  of  his  fellows. 

Avarice,  however,  marked  him  for  her 
own,  and  yielding  to  the  evil  spirit  which 
now  took  complete  possession  of  his  soul, 
he  surrendered  honor,  self-respect,  every- 
thing to  the  desire  for  the  acquisition  of 
Gain. 

The  ordeal  of  defeat  tries  the  strength  of 
men  severely;  and  the  overthrow  of  a 
Cause  is  always  the  forerunner  of  desertion 
of  principle  and  a  scramble  for  vantage- 
ground  on  the  side  of  the  victor.  So  it  was 
after  the  disasters  to  the  Confederacy  which 
defeated  the  cause  of  the  Southern  i^eople. 
A  most  sudden  cliange  in  the  opinions  of 
many  who  had  professed  to  be  among  the 
warmest  supporters  of  the  War  while  it 
lasted,  followed  the  triumph  of  the  Federal 
government.  The  flag  of  the  Union  be- 
came an  object  of  the  deepest  affection  with 
some  who  had  most  detested  it  while  the 
Confederate  armies  were  winning  victories  ; 
and  it  grew  to  be  the  fashion  to  boast — 
falsely,  of  course ! — that  the  act  of  secession 
had  been  unfalteringly  opposed  by  these 
new  converts  to  Unionism. 

Paul  Adams  was  sagacious  enough  to  an- 
nounce his  apostacy  very  early,  observing, 
long  before  the  majority  of  the  people,  the 
indications  of  the  revolution  of  feeling  that 
was  growing.    He  pretended  to  have  been 


96 


DOLORES. 


a  most  infamous  and  traitorous  wretcli  dur- 
ing the  "  Rebellion,"  and  claimed  that  he 
had  greatly  contributed  to  its  overthrow, 
whereas,  on  the  contrary,  lie  had  been  an 
efficient  and  gallant  officer  of  the  Southern 
army. 

The  results  of  this  action  Tvere  just  sncli 
as  he  anticipated  and  desired.  Unlimited 
opportunities  for  speculation  and  pecula- 
tion were  afforded  him  by  the  agents  of  the 
government ;  and  he  rapidly  augmented 
his  resources.  Then  his  talents  won  him 
a  political  distinction  as  one  of  the  leaders 
of  the  "  Loyal  Party,"  and  he  added  the 
emoluments  of  office  to  the  gains  of  his 
private  enterprises.  In  a  word,  few  men 
were  more  happily  situated  than  the  son 
of  the  Puritan  preacher,  so  far  as  worldly 
prosperity  could  achieve  such  a  result. 

This  course  of  action  lost  Paul  Adams 
the  respect  of  highly  intelligent  and  hon- 
orable people  for  a  while  ;  but  then  these  are 
so  few  in  every  community,  that  he  did  not 
mind  the  withdrawal  of  their  esteem. 
"With  the  larger  class  of  his  fellow  citizens 
he  kept  a  degree  of  popularity  that  satis- 
fied his  grovelling  ambition.  As  his  wealth 
increased  his  popularity  grew  ;  and  as  his 
popularity  extended  and  his  dignity  ad- 
vanced, he  became  correspondingly  pious. 

He  attended  Church  with  great  regulari- 
ty, was  made  a  deacon,  or  an  elder,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  and  discharged  the  du- 
ties of  this  religious  office  with  a  sancti- 
mony and  zeal  that  made  him  an  immacu- 
late reputation  for  the  possession  of  all  the 
Christian  virtues.  One  of  the  most  blessed 
elements  of  Christian  character,  however, 
did  not  distinguish  his  pretended  church- 
manship.  His  hand  dispensed  no  alms, 
his  tongue  spoke  no  words  of  charity.  He 
was  the  personification  of  selfishness.  Yet, 
while  this  was  so,  notoriously  so,  his  breth- 
ren repelled,  with  a  spirited  indignation, 
every  insinuation  of  doubt  as  to  the  sinceri- 
ty of  his  devotional  professions. 

Brother  Adams  was  too  well  off"  in  the 
gear  of  this  sublunary  sphere  to  be  sus- 
pected of  poverty  in  those  imperishable 
treasures,  which,  it  is  said,  neither  moth 
nor  rust  can  corrupt. 

A  money  king,  a  political  leader,  a  pillar 
of  the  sanctuary,  all  these  in  the  little  town 
of  his  nati™y,  still  Paul  Adams  was  dis- 


contented. He  had  another  aspiration  to 
be  gratified — he  wanted  to  be  the  Magnus 
Apollo  of  C town  society  !  And,  unfor- 
tunately, there  was  a  hindrance  to  the  re- 
alization of  this  praiseworthy  ambition. 

He  was  not  of  "blooded  stock;"  and, 
besides,  foolish  people  were  curious  enough 
to  want  to  know  one  of  his  domestic  secrets. 

Paul  Adams  had  never  satisfactorily  ac- 
counted for  his  wife's  absence ;  and  there 
was  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  neigh- 
bors to  know  where  she  was,  why  she  had 
left  her  home,  whether  she  had  betrayed, 
or  been  betrayed. 

At  length  curiosity  became  so  much 
aroused  on  this  subject  that  Paul  found  he 
had  to  do  one  of  three  things — either  yield 
his  aspirations  for  social  position ;  bring 
his  wife  back  to  his  fireside  ;  or  get  a  Di- 
vorce ! 

Paul  was  unwilling  to  accept  the  first 
alternative :  he  could  not  choose  the  sec- 
ond ;  so  he  concluded  to  adopt  the  last. 

His  first  step  in  this  direction  was  an 
effort  to  poison  the  public  mind  by  circulat- 
ing whispers  of  Dolores'  infidelity  as  a 
wife  ;  his  next  was  the  subornation  of  tes- 
timony as  to  her  criminalty  ;  his  next  was 
to  bring  a  suit  for  Divorce  in  the  Superior 
Court. 

"When  this  last  card  was  played  the  gos- 
sips of  C town  were  thrown  into  a  fe- 
ver of  excitement ;  and  the  pros  and  cons 
of  the  matter  were  thoroughly  discussed. 

Public  attention  having  been  re-directed 
to  this  matter,  the  disappearance  of  Dolo- 
res again  became  a  subject  of  surmise  and 
wonderment ;  and  the  curiosity  to  learn 
the  cause  and  the  particulars  of  her  depart- 
ure, and  the  desire  to  ascertain  the  present 
place  of  her  refuge  became  more  intense 
than  at  the  time  of  her  flight. 

Paul  Adams  was  constantly  subjected  to 
annoyance  by  his  acquaintances,  who  could 
neither  repress  their  vulgar  anxiety  to 
know  Avhat  they  had  no  right  to  be  in- 
formed of,  nor  take  a  gentle  rebuff". 

"  Where  is  your  wife  ?  ''  they  questioned. 
"  Why  did  she  leave  you  ?  "  "  Did  you  sus- 
pect her  of  criminality  before  she  ran 
away  ?  "  "  Do  you  think  you  will  succeed 
in  getting  a  divorce?"  "Do  you  know 
where  she  is  now?"  "Do  you  ever  get  let- 
ters from  her  ? " 


DOLOEES. 


Paul,  ■when  lie  gave  any  reply  to  these 
inquiries,  generally  gave  very  positive  an- 
swers ;  but  false  answers  invariably. 

And  still  neither  he,  nor  the  gossips, 
learned  anything  reliable  concerning  the 

fugitive   wife.      C town    had    to  wait 

many  months  to  learn  the  genuine  story  of 
Dolores'  flight  and  its  consequences.  The 
reader  must  not  complain,  if  he  has  to 
plod  through  many  chapters  to  acquire  the 
same  information. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Ascertaining  the  extent  of  his  losses, 
Roland  Vernon,  being  a  young  man  still, 
resolved  to  make  a  new  start  in  a  new 
home.  For  the  South,  as  long .  as  there 
was  hope  of  its  future,  he  did  all  that  pat- 
riotism demanded ;  but  now  that  human 
energy  could  accomplish  nothing  more,  he 
determined  to  abandon  the  land  of  his 
birth,  and  seek  happiness  in  some  clime  of 
a  more  promising  geniality. 

Of  all  the  countries  in  which  his  mother 
tongue  was  spoken — and  he  was  unwill- 
ing to  live  in  any  other — England  held 
most  attractions  for  his  soul.  It  was  the 
birth-place  of  his  ancestors  ;  it  was  civi- 
lized Avithout  being  too  much  democratised  ; 
life  and  liberty  were  certain  of  secure  and 
stable  protection  under  its  great  Constitu- 
tion. There  the  profession  which  he  had 
selected  could  be  prosecuted,  and  distinc- 
tion in  its  practice  be  won. 

Vernon  had  ten  thousand  dollars  left, 
and,  economically  expended,  it  would  last 
hini  six  or  seven  years.  In  three  years  he 
coulil  gain  admission  to  the  bar,  by  hard 
study  and  close  application,  as  he  was  al- 
ready very  well  read  in  the  science  of  law. 
If  he  could  be  called  to  the  bar  in  three 
years,  he  felt  confident  tLat,  with  his  com- 
petency for  three  years  more,  he  could  earn 
enough  for  the  support  of  his  family  af;er 
his  means  were  exhausted.  And,  if  he 
should  be  disappointed  in  this  expectation, 
he  could  place  some  reliance  on  his  pen, 
in  the  hope  of  making  literary  labors  sup- 
ply any  deficiency 


Roland  consulted  his  father,  to  whom  his 
plans  were  communicated,  and  was  encour- 
aged to  pursue  the  course  which  he  was 
considering.  Finding,  also,  that  Alice  and 
Mrs.  Adams  were  willing  to  make  the  move, 
if  he  deemed  it  necessary,  he  concluded  to 
carry  out  the  plan  ;  and  the  preparations 
for  the  exodus  were  hurried  up,  and  an 
early  day  appointed  for  the  departure. 

The  night  before  the  morning  on  which 
he  intended  to  leave  for  New  York  to  take 
passage  for  Liverpool,  Roland  sat  in  the  li- 
brary at  Rushbrook,  enjoying  a  farewell 
meeting  with  the  friends  from  whom  he  in- 
tended to  separate  himself  on  the  morrow 
— friends  that  he  loved,  friends  that  loved 
him. 

"  And  you  are  anxious  to  leave  us,  anx- 
ious to  get  to  your  new  home  in  merrie  old 
England?  Ab,  Alice,  who  Avould  have 
thought  that  you  would  entice  Roland  from 
his  poor  old  parents  ?  "  said  Col.  Vernon  to 
his  daughter. 

"  Now,  father !  Please  don't  tease  me  to- 
night, for  I  am  too  sad.  Tou  know  we 
don't  want  to  leave  you  and  mother ;  and 
I'm  sure  you  advised  Roland  to  go !  But 
why  can't  you  and  mother  go  with  us  ? 
We'll  wait  and  help  get  you  ready,  or  we'll 
go  and  get  settled  for  you  to  come  to  us. 
Promise,  at  least,  that  you  will  join  us 
when  we  get  established  !  " 

Col.  Vernon  had  been  jesting,  but  he 
looked  very  grave  when  he  replied  to  Alice 
—looked  very  grave  and  sorrowful. 

"  Abandon  Rushbrook  !  I've  grown  to 
love  the  dear  old  place  too  much  to  desert 
it  for  a  trivial  cause  ;  and,  yet,  you  tempt 
me!" 

"  liushbrook  will  never  again  be  the  hap- 
py home  that  you  have  grown  to  love. 
Wealth  dissipated ;  no  longer  free ;  no 
longer  able  to  live  as  you  have  been  accus- 
tomed ;  your  children  and  grandchildren 
s:one  ;  vou  and  mother  here  alone  !  How 
changed  life  in  the  dear  old  place  will  seem  ! 
What  else  will  you  do  but  remember  and 
sigh  for  the  past  ? " 

" '  Your  children  and  grandchildren 
gone ! '  Terrible !  terrible  !  Wife,  what 
do  you  say  ?  Shall  we  leave  Rushbrook 
and  follow  these  children  and  grandchild- 
ren across  the  Atlantic  ?  I  am  almost  per- 
suaded ! " 


9S 


DOLORES. 


"  Ah  !  ah  !  If  we  had  the  means,  we 
could  go  ;  but — " 

"  —Why,  you  have  the  means !  My  prop- 
erty has  been  confiscated  ;  but  yours  is  im- 
touched.  Eushbrook,  and  the  rest  of  your 
lands,  would  bring  ten  thousand  dollars ; 
and  that  would  support  us  ten  years  !  " 

"  I  can"t  sell  Rushbrook  !  It  was  my  fa- 
ther's present  on  my  bridal  day.  I  cannot 
bear  to  see  Eoland  and  Alice  and  the  child- 
ren go  ;  but  I  cannot  sell  Rushbrook  —  I 
cannot  sell  it  for  any  purpose,  unless  its 
sacrifice  were  demanded  to  save  Leigh,  or 
Vernon,  honor,  or  life." 

"  Marse  Roland  ! "  said  a  servant  entering 
at  this  moment,  "  Here's  a  note,  sah  !  " 

Vernon  read  the  note  ;  and,  springing  up 
excitedly,  rushed  to  the  door  and  called 
back  the  servant. 

"  Bring  father's  filly  up  to  the  gate  imme- 
diately.    Saddled ! " 

"  What's  the  matter,  Roland  ?  "  cried  all, 
seeing  that  he  had  received  a  communica 
tion  that  evidently  annoyed  him. 

"  I  must  go  to  town.  I  may  be  late  ;  but 
sit  up  for  me.  My  yilans  may  be  deranged. 
Particulars,  when  I  have  more  time  I  " 

Hastening  from  the  house,  he  mounted 
the  horse  and  sped  to  the  town  at  a  swing- 
ing gallop.  He  rode  to  Morrisson's  office, 
jumped  from  the  saddle,  hitched  his  bri- 
dle to  a  swinging  limb,  and,  walking  upon 
the  portico,  knocked. 
"Come  in,  Roland  I " 
The  lawyer  knew  his  visitor  without  see- 
ing him.  He  had  sent  the  note  that 
brought  Vernon  to  town  in  such  a  furious 
hurry,  and  knew  what  would  be  its  ef- 
fect. 

Roland  turned  the  knob  and  pushed  ;  the 
door  swung  back  on  its  hinges  ;  and  the 
huge  form  of  Morrisson  rose  against  the 
mantle-piece,  fully  discernible  in  the  glare 
of  the  gas-light. 

"  Well,  Roland,  I  thought  you  would  be 
down.     I  have  been  waiting  for  you." 

"  Of  course,  or  you  wouldn't  have   sent 
the  note  !     Well,  I   have  very  little   time. 
I  come  to  say  that  I  cannot  comply  with 
your  demand."      " 
"Why?" 

"  Because  half  of  the  fortime,  nine-tenths 
of  it,  has  been  exhausted." 

"  But,  then,  you  see,  I  claim  that  I  have 


a  right  to  half  as  long  as  anything  remains 
— to  half  of  what  remains." 

"  You  can  take  that  Sampson  plantation. 
It  was  valued  at  twenty  thousand  dollars. 
But  it  may  be  confiscated  ;  or,  if  not,  it 
may  sell  for  less — still  it  is  worth  ten  thou- 
sand." 

"  No  !  I  WANT  Cash  !  Cash  is  the  on- 
ly legal-tender  —  gold,  silver,  or  green- 
backs ! " 

"  But,  Morrisson,  it  is  unjust;  certainly 
not  in  the  spirit  of  the  agreement.  Take 
all  the  stocks,  lands,  debts,  everj'thing  ;  but 
do  not  require  the  cash.  Why,  man,  I  go 
to  England  to-morrow.  It  is  impossible  to 
pay  you  ten  thousand  dollars  !  " 

"  Read  that  document ;  and  see  if  I  do 
not  claim  justly  !  "  was  the  unrelenting  re- 
sponse. 

Vernon  obeyed ;  and  silently  commenced 
reading  the  manuscript  which  Morrisson 
offered.  Having  finished  the  perusal,  he 
hoarsely  asked, 

"  Where  is  the  ring  ? " 

"  Here  it  is,  Roland.  I  reckon  it's  all 
right." 

ISIorrisson  smiled  triumphantly.  Vernon 
took  the  tiinket  and  examined  it. 

It  was  a  plain  gold  ring,  not  very  heavy, 
but  mounted  with  a  square  cameo  set.  The 
set  was  engraved,  thus : 

J.  L.*M.M.  ,1 

Vernon  trembled  visibly,  and  seemed 
wrapt  in  a  sort  of  dream. 

Ikleanwhile  Morrisson  walked  back  to  the 
fireplace,  and  leant  on  the  mantle.  He 
scraped  one  of  his  feet  backwards  and  for- 
wards— scraped  for  several  minutes  with  an 
air  of  unconcern.  He  was  closely  watch- 
ing Vernon's  features  all  the  wliile. 

Dii-ectly  Morrisson's  foot  struck  some- 
thing. He  looked  down.  He  saw  this 
thing  rolling  towards  the  middle  of  the_ 
floor,  and  glistening  as  it  rolled.  He  looked 
at  Vernon.  He  perceived  that  he  had  been 
too  intent  in  his  contemplation  of  the  ring, 
to  notice  what  had  occurred.  He  walked 
towards  Vernon  ;  placed  himself  between 
him  and  the  object ;  then  turned  suddenly 
round,  stooped,  j^icked  it  up,  and  x^ut  it  into 
his  vest  pocket.  He  returned  to  the  fire- 
place ;  changed  his  position,  so  as  to  pre- 


DOLORES. 


99 


sent  his  back  to  Vernon  ;  took  out  the  ol> 
ject,  and  found  that  it  was  the  ring  which 
dropped  from  the  manuscript  the  night  he 
had  resolved  upon  the  suit  against  Vernon 
— the  suit  in  which  he  had  failed. 

"  This,"  said  Roland,  after  gazing  at  the 
ring  which  he  held  a  long  time,  and  after 
endeavoring  to  find  a  spring  which  should 
have  been,  but  was  not  inside,  and  imme- 
diately under  the  set — "  this  is  not  the  ring 
referred  to  in  that  manuscript  !  " 

"  Try  this,  then  ! "  retorted  Morrissou, 
offering  another  ring.  "  There  are  two  of 
them,  both  alike.  One  of  them  is  all  right. 
I  don't  know  them  apart !  " 

Then  he  thanked  his  fortune  for  the 
lucky  accident  that  had  restored  the  lost 
bauble  and  saved  him  from  detection.  The 
first  ring  he  gave  to  Vernon  was  a  well 
executed  counterfeit  which  he  had  made  by 
a  jeweler,  when  convinced  that  the  genuine 
talisman  was  irreclaimably  lost. 

Vernon  tried  the  spring  of  the  second, 
and  it  yielded  to  his  touch.  The  cameo 
flew  back,  and  two  very  small  miniatures 
were  disclosed. 

"  That  is  the  face  of  my  au my  mo- 
ther !  "  said  Morrisson,  not  unaffected  by 
this  unexpected  discovery. 

"  This  is  the  likeness  of  my  grandfather !  " 
observed  Vernon,  unmoved  by  the  revela- 
tion. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  satisfied  now  1  Do 
you  still  decline  to  meet  my  demand '? " 
asked  Morrisson  after  a  lengthy  pause. 

"  I  still  decline !  How  do  I  know  you  are 
the  son  of  Mary  Morrisson  ?  How  do  I 
know  but  that  this  manuscript  is  a  for- 
gery ?  " 

"  You  know  it,  because  James  Leigh  has 
confirmed  it  in  a  communication  to  you — a 
communication  binding  on  your  honor  for 
the  fulfillment  of  a  trust  which  he  created. 
You  know  that'I  am  Mary  Morrisson's  son, 
because  he  tells  you  so  in  that  communi- 
cation." 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ? " 

•'  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  that 
document." 

Springing  to  his  feet  Vernon  seized  ]\Ior- 
risson  by  the  collar  with  both  hands,  and 
holding  him  with  the  grip  of  a  vise,  de- 
manded indignantly : 


"  When  ?     Where  f    How  V " 

"  Five  months  ago — in  this  oflSce — I  got 

possession  of  it  after  the  C town  Bank 

was  destroyed  by  Sherman." 

"  Damn  you,  how  dare  you  read  it  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  its  character  until  I 
got  so  interested  that  I  could  not  stop.  I'll 
not  reveal  its  contents  !  " 

"You  contemptible  villain,  I've  a  great 
mind  to  brain  you  with  this  chair  !  " 

"  See  here,  Roland !  I  don't  want  this 
money,  if  it's  to  create  a  disturbance.  I'll 
yield  all  claim  ;  I  like  you,  boy  !  " 

Morrisson,  who  had  been  released  from 
Vernon's  grip,  now  advanced  with  an  out- 
stretched hand. 

"Stand  back!"  cried  Roland.  "Until 
by  your  own  confession  you  are  proved  a 
scoundrel,  a  foul  miscreant,  probing  into 
the  secrets  of  others,  I  felt  some  charity  for 
your  weaknesses,  some  sympathy  for  the 
misfortune  of  your  birth.  Now,  I  don't 
want  to  be  contaminated  by  your  touch. 
Stand  back ! " 

Vernon  paused  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
Having  recovered  his  calmness,  he  con- 
tinued : 

"  A  fair  and  liberal  interpretation  of  the 
promise  contained  in  that  manuscript  would 
not  require  me  to  meet  the  demand  which 
you  have  made.  The  greater  part  of  the 
estate  which  I  inherited  has  been  swept 
away.  Lands,  all  but  the  Sampson  plan- 
tation, confiscated ;  stocks,  bonds,  etc., 
rendered  valueless ;  farming  implements, 
horses,  mules,  cattle,  everything  taken  by 
Sherman  ;  debts,  notes,  accounts,  worthless. 
I  have  nothing  left  but  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars, in  cash,  which  I  acquired  and  did  not 
inherit ;  and  the  Sa;mpson  plantation.  I 
offer  you  the  plantation,  you  refuse  it.  I 
think  these  facts  absolve  me  ;  and  I  would 
refuse  to  be  swindled,  but  for  the  fact  that 
yon  offer  to  release  me  after  acknowledging 
your  villainy  in  prying  into  affairs  tliat  I 
kept  even  from  my  father.  I  will  not  be 
under  any  obligation  to  such  a  scoundrel ; 

I  WILL  PAY  YOU   THE  TKICE  OP  YOUR  MO- 
THER'S SHAME,   TO-MORROW  !  " 

Saying  this,  Vernon  rushed  with  a  fury 
of  passion  from  the  office,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  to  Rushbrook. 

There  was  a  light  in   the  library.     He 


DOLORES. 


100 


entered  and  found  the  family  awaiting  Lis 
return,  lie  was  silent  a  moment ;  and  tlien 
said  : 

"  We  will  not  go  to  England.  1  have  met 
with  a  disappointment  that  will  force  us  to 
remain  in  America  !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

Early  the  next  day  Eoland  Vernon  went 
to  town  and  paid  Morrisson  the  ten  thou- 
sand dollars.  This  left  him  almost  penni- 
.  less.  The  Sampson  plantation  was  still  in 
his  possession  ;  but  was  subject  to  libel  and 
sale  under  the  confiscation  laws,  at  that 
time  being  rigorously  enforced.  Conse- 
quently he  could  neither  mortgage  it,  nor 
sell  it ;  and,  even  if  he  could  have  found  a 
purchaser,  he  would  have  been  restrained 
from  parting  with  this  property,  as  he  was 
bound  up  by  an  obligation  which  was  attach- 
ed to  its  ownership. 

The  future  frowned  darkly  and  mena- 
cingly on  Roland  Vernon.  His  family  had 
just  been  increased  by  the  birth  of  another 
"  son  ;  his  wife  was  in  very  delicate  healtli  ; 
he  was  disabled  and  unfit  for  any  business 
that  demanded  physical  exertion  ;  his  pro- 
fession would  yield  him  literally  nothing ; 
his  father  was  barely  able  to  earn  a  meagre 
support,  and  could  but  poorly  afford  to  be 
encumbered  by  the  additional  responsibility 
of  maintaining  three  adults  and  two  child- 
ren, which  he  would  have  to  do  if  his  son 
and  family  continued  at  Rushbrook. 

Tortured  with  a  consciousness  of  inabili- 
ty to  discharge  his  obligations  as  a  husband 
and  father,  Roland  Vernon  became  a  vic- 
tim to  despondency,  and  fretted  and 
writlied  under  the  sense  of  dependence 
which  he  now  experienced  iintil  his  mind 
nearly  gave  way  under  the  pressure  of  ac- 
cumulated misfortunes. 

He  endeavored  to  secure  employment, 
but  intellectual  labor  was  not  in  demand, 
and  light  work,  such  as  book-lieeping, 
clerking,  etc.,  etc.,  could  not  be  procured. 

lie  wrote  for  the  magazines,  but  the  pay 
was  small,  and  the  income  from  this  source 
utterly  inadequate  to  the  satisfaction  of  his 
absolute  needs. 


The  prospect  grew  less  and  less  hopeful 
in  the  Soutb,  until,  in  the  Spring  of  18GG, 
the  gloom  culminated  in  heavy  and  un- 
broken darkness.  Utter  despair  seized  Ver- 
non when  six  or  eight  months  of  miserable 
existence  were  spent  in  looking  forward  to 
better  times,  and  terminated  in  increased 
disasters. 

When  everything  had  grown  to  be  as 
desperate  as  possible,  and  another  month's 
disheartening  developments  would  have 
driven  him  to  insanity,  Vernon  had  the  ex- 
treme good  fortune  to  receive  nine  hundred 
dollars  in  payment  of  a  claim  which  he  had 
regarded  as  utterly  valueless  for  several 
years.  This  money  had  a  magical  effect 
upon  his  mind :  Hope  was  aroused.  Ambi- 
tion rekindled.  Energy,  Pluck,  Perseve- 
rance, all  re-awakened  ;  and,  with  a  cheer- 
ful determination  to  rebuild  his  dilapidated 
fortune,  he  devoted  a  week's  thought  to  the 
solution  of  the  problem,  With  such  a  capi- 
tal wliat  is  my  best  course,  what  my  best 
investment  of  money,  talent,  and  industry  ? 

About  this  time  Vernon  saw  from  the 
newspapers  that  large  numbers  of  South- 
erners were  flocking  to  New  York  ;  en- 
gaging in  all  sorts  of  professions,  trades, 
and  employments  ;  and  succeeding  admira- 
bly. Not  having  learned  that  many  news- 
paper publications  lack  an  important  ele- 
ment— Truth,  he  resolved  to  join  these  ex- 
iles, and  was  allured  by  the  tempting  and 
glowing  descriptions  of  the  success  of 
others,  to  hope  that  he  might  achieve  idti- 
mate  distinction  and  wealth  by  the  practice 
of  law,  and  was  confident  that  he  could 
make  a  living  from  the  start.  He  was 
gifted  with  wonderful  powers  of  oratory, 
and  had  devoted  a  great  deal  of  study  to 
the  criminal  law — on  this  talent  and  this 
learning  he  founded  his  high  expectations. 

Since  his  marriage  Vernon  had  spent 
only  about  two  years  wuth  his  wife,  and 
had  been  absent  from  home  so  much  of  his 
time,  and  suffered  so  many  privations  and 
discomforts,  that  he  found  it  very  difficult 
to  decide  upon  enduring  the  further  separa- 
tion which  this  plan  would  necessitate,  if 
carried  out ;  but  the  thought  that  he  could 
soon  found  a  comfortable  home  where  he 
could  have  his  wife  and  children  al^^'ays 
with  him,  and  the  reflection  that  his  life 
with  them,  depending  on  his  father's  labors 


DOLORES. 


101 


for  a  subsistence,  for  the  last  twelve  moutlis, 
liad  been  full  of  uuhappincss,  induced  liim 
to  make  tlie  sacrifice  wliicli  the  parting 
from  them  would  cost.  So  he  went  bravely 
to  work,  and  made  ready  to  depart  for  the 
scene  of  his  new  struggle  against  Destiny ; 
got  ready,  not  without  some  forebodings 
that  after  all  he  might  fail,  with  a  cheerful 
spirit  of  resignation  to  the  severe  Fatality 
that  was  to  dej^rive  him  of  the  sweet  en- 
dearments of  home. 

He  gave  sis  hundred  dollars  to  Alice  for 
the  defrayment  of  her  expenses  and  those 
of  the  children,  until  he  could  come  home 
and  carry  them  back  with  him,  or  send  them 
further  provision  ;  and  took  the  other  three 
hundred  himself,  depending  upon  that 
small  sum  for  at  least  a  year's  support. 

"  Surely,  my  wife," — said  he,  when  bid- 
ding Alice  farewell — "  surely  I  can  wring 
the  paltry  gift  which  I  seek  fi'om  the  re- 
luctant grasp  of  uupitying  fortune !  New 
York  is  a  great  cosmopolitan  city  ;  and 
there  must  be  a  living  there  for  a  family 
so  unpretentious  in  aspiration  as  we  \vill 
be  when  we  go  there  to  establish  a  new 
home !  " 

"  I  trust  so,  Roland  !  I  sincerely  hope 
that  you  may  succeed !  But  be  careful  not 
to  be  too  sanguine.  You  must  remember 
that  the  Goddess  is  stone  blind,  and  does 
not  always  bestow  her  favors  on  the  wor- 
thiest ! " 

Ah,  Alice  !  Alas  !  Alas  !  'Tis  too  true  ! 
Fortune  is  blind ;  and  the  worthy  are  often 
doomed  to  misery ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Broadway  was  plethoric  with  humani- 
ty ;  and  the  great  masses  of  life  swaying 
back  and  forth,  pushing  and  pressing 
and  elbowing  along  the  splendid  thor- 
oughfare, presented  the  same  idiosyn- 
cratic appearance  that  the  similar  everlast- 
iujr  crowd  has  maintained  for  several  de- 
cades. 

Roland  Vernon  sat  in  the  reading  room 
of  the  Astor  House,  looking  over  the  files 
of  the  morning  papers,  and  occasionally  rais- 


ing his  eyes  from  the  closely  printed  pages 
to  stare  at  the  thronging  procession  of  hu- 
man heads,  sweeping  up  and  down,  and  clat- 
tering over  the  pavement  below. 

Ho  read  through  the  Herald's  editorial 
and  news  columns,  glanced  at  the  adver- 
tisements, and  threw  do^vn  the  great  daily 
with  a  yawu  of  fatigue,  when  a  hand  tap- 
ped him  familiarly  on  the  shoulder.  He 
looked  up  and  met  the  gaze  of  a  well 
dressed  gentleman  whose  features  were 
fresh  in  his  memory,  but  whose  name  he 
could  not  recollect. 

"  Vernon,  don't  you  know  me  ?  "  said 
this  person,  smiling  and  extending  his 
hand. 

"  Perfectly  well !  I  remember  your  face 
perfectly  well,  but  not  your  name.  Still 
I'm  glad  to  see  you !  "  was  Roland's  imme- 
diate reply. 

"Thank  you!  I'm  glad  to  see  you — 
very  glad !  When  I  left  you  in  a  delirium 
in  Spotsylvania  hospital  I  never  expected 
to  meet  you  again." 

"  Ah !  General  Carson  !  How  could  I 
have  been  so  forgetful!  Have  you  been 
well,  General  ?  " 

"Yes.  Ever  since  I  have  lived  here  I 
have  had  excellent  health.  By  the  way, 
what  are  you  doing  here  1 " 

"  I  am  here  to  locate — to  practice  law." 

"  Indeed !  I  am  here,  and  doing  very 
well,  at  the  bar— splendidly,  I  may  say  !  " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  located  in  the 
city.  General  ?  " 

"Ever  since  we  left  Virginia — nearly  a 
year  ago.  You  are  idle !  Then  walk  to 
my  office  with  me.  It's  just  above  here — 
No.  24^-  Broadway.  Take  one  of  my 
cards  1 " 

Vernon  assented  to  Carson's  proposition  ; 
and,  lighting  cigars,  the  couple  strolled 
along  together,  smoking  and  chatting  of 
the  war.  In  a  few  minutes  they  reached 
Carson's  office;  and,  after  scrambling  up 
three  ffights  of  stairs,  entered  and  drew 
seats  up  to  the  window  which  opened  upon 
the  City  Hall  Park.  With  their  feet 
planted  on  the  window  siU  and  their  cigars 
in  their  mouths  they  soon  lost  themselves 
in  pleasant  conversation. 

After  an  hour's  talking,  being  invited 
by  his  companion,  Vernon  announced  his 
plans  to  his  friend  and  sought  his  advice. 


]02 


DOLORES. 


"  I  learn,"  said  Ternon,  "  that  I  can  be 
admitted  on  motion.  My  Nortli  Carolina 
license  vill  serve  me  a  good  stead,  altliongli 
it  did  me  very  little  good  at  home.  As  I 
am  more  familiar  Avitli  Criminal  Jurispru- 
dence than  with  any  other  branch  of  the 
science,  I  shall  make  its  practice  my  speci- 
ality." 

"No,  no!  That  will  not  do !  Tlie  Crimi- 
nal practice  is  disreputable— a  gentleman 
must  have  no  connection  with  that  line  of 
professional  business." 

"  Why  ?  You  amaze  me !  I  thought 
that  the  most  celebrated  lawyers  were  in 
the  habit  of  practicing  in  the  Criminal 
Courts." 

"  You  are  mistaken  !  They  never  do,  ex- 
cept in  very  important  cases.  Even  then 
they  are  not  engaged  by  the  prisoners  as 
attorneys  ;  but  are  employed  as  advocates 
to  assist  the  regular  counsel." 

"  Well,  I  have  been  mistaken !  I  had  al- 
ways thought  the  criminal  practice  was 
quite  as  respectable  as  the  civil. — It  is  more 
so,  if  there's  any  difference,  in  the  South." 

"  Exactly  ;  and  so  it  is  in  the  country  at 
the  North.  But  it's  different  here — very. 
For  instance,  Charlie  Smasher  is  a  great 
criminal  lawyer,  his  business  is  worth  twen- 
ty or  thirty  thousand  dollars  a  year ;  but 
he  has  no  social  standing,  is  a  very  Pariah, 
and  is  called  '  The  Thieves'  Friend ' — a  ti- 
tle that  he  glories  in  and  of  which  he  is  ex- 
ceedingly proud.  He  is  the  best  of  his 
class  !  Well,  now,  if  you  go  into  that  prac- 
tice you  will  have  to  associate  with  persons 
of  that  ilk.  Of  course  it  would  be  unpleas- 
ant, intolerable,  even  if  you  could  make  a 
million  a  year." 

"  How  entirely  diifcrent  from  what  I  had 
imagined !  I  thought  I  could  make  reputa- 
tion, wealth,  and  acquire  honorable  station 
as  a  criminal  lawyer.  The  practice  gives 
such  play  to  a  man's  powers.  lu  the  ci\il 
practice  there  is  very  little  opportunity  for 
the  display  of  oratorical  abilities." 

".Well,  you  know,  oratory  has  played  out 
here  !  Few  speeches  are  made  in  the 
Court-House — when  one  is  made,  it  is  brief, 
dry,  but  pointed — not  eloquent !  Our  best 
lawyers  make  no  pretensions  to  oratory  !  " 

"  Then  I  made  a  great  mistake  in  com- 
ing to  New  York !  " 

**  Why  ?  " 


"  Becatise  my  forte  is  speech-making.  I 
cannot  win  my  way  up  through  any  other 
faculty." 

"Not  so!  You've  got  good  sense;  in- 
dustry, I  suppose  ;  and,  if  you  can  afford  to 
wait,  may  work  your  way  into  a  fair  busi- 
ness in  four  or  five  years." 

"  Consoling !  What  am  I  to  do  in  the 
meantime  ?" 

"  Work  ;  study  ;  make  yourself  a  pro- 
foimd  lawyer !  " 

"But  how  shall  Hive?" 

"  Oh !  As  for  that,  you  must  be  rich  yet ; 
although  you  lost  so  heavily." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not !  Two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  is  my  whole  fortune  !  " 

"All !  Then  you  can't  even  buy  a  part- 
nership ?  I  paid  five  thousand  dollars  for 
my  start !  If  I  hadn't  done  that,  I  would 
probably  have  been  forced  to  wait  ten  or 
fifteen  years  to  build  up  the  business  I  now 
enjoy.  A  stranger  is  at  a  great  disadvan- 
tage here — if  he  comes  without  reputation 
he  has  to  take  his  turn  and  run  his  risk — 
-if  he  brings  a  reputation  with  him,  people 
argue  that  he  will  extort  large  fees  on  that 
account,  and  when  they  have  to  pay  for 
first-class  talent  prefer  Brady,  Evarts,  O'Con- 
nor, and  men  of  their  class." 

When  Vernon  rose  to  leave,  it  was  with 
a  heavy  heart.  He  had  hoped  so  fondly  ; 
he  was  about  to  realize  so  poorly.  He  be- 
gan calculating,  as  he  went  down  the  steps, 
how  long  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
could  be  made  to  last  by  the  practice  of  the 
strictest  economy,  and  whether  he  cordd 
not  make  two  hundred  dollars  a  year  by 
writing  for  the  magazine  to  which  he  had 
sent  an  occasional  contribution — a  doubtful 
matter,  as  the  pay  was  insignificant,  and 
space  limited. 

When  he  descended  into  the  street  his 
cogitations  were  disturbed.  A  pedestrian 
accosted  him,  and  turning  quickly  he  recog- 
nized an  old  army  friend — the  Major  of  a 
Virginia  regiment. 

"  Why,  Courtuay !     You  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Vernon  ;  and  pleased  to  find  you !  " 

The  friends  stood  near  the  curbstone  and 
chatted  until  Vernon  found  that  Courtnay 
was  disengaged  for  the  day,  and  insisted  on 
his  accompanying  him  to  his  room  at  the 
Astor. 

Reaching   this   retreat  Vernon   filled  a 


DOLORES. 


103 


couple  of  pipes  witli  clioice  old  Durliani, 
which  he  had  brought  from  North  Caroli- 
na, and  handing  one  to  his  friend  and  tak- 
ing the  other  himself,  sat  down  by  the  win- 
dow and  talked  of  the  grand  life  they  had 
led  together  in  the  vanished  days  of  the 
Confederacy.  Both  spoke  unreservedly  of 
their  misfortunes  and  of  their  aspirations. 
Vernon  laid  great  stress  on  the  disappoint- 
ment which  the  revelations  of  Genl.  Carson 
foreshadowed,  and  gloomily  expressed  the 
apprehension  that  he  would  be  forced  to  re- 
turn to  the  South.  Courtnay  listened  si- 
lently until  his  companion's  story  was  fully 
told,  and  then  undertook  to  encourage  him 
and  to  dispel  the  fears  which  he  was  dis- 
posed to  entertain. 

"  Why  not  turn  Bohemian  ?  "  said  Court- 
nay.  "  You  can  probably  make  it  pay  you 
something,  until  a  better  opening  offers  ! "' 

"I  don't  understand  you!"  was  the  re- 
ply.    "  Bohemian  ?  " 

"  Indeed  !     Don't  you  know  what  Bohe- 
mianism  is?      Why,   I  am  a    Bohemian. 
When  I  found  that  I  could  get  no  employ- 
ment in  my  old  line,  I  got  me  a  gray  goose 
quill,  and  commenced  writing  for  the  press 
—turned  Bohemian.     The  name  is  applied 
because  the  outside  writers  for  the  city  pa- 
pers are  supposed  to  be  a  wandering  class, 
with  no  home  ties,  no  local  habitations,  and 
subject  to  no  social  laws— supposed  to  live 
from  hand  to  mouth,  to  sleep  in  the  streets, 
to  be  floats  on  the  great  ocean  of  metropol- 
itan life  ;  di-ifting  and  driven,  to  and  fro, 
without  any  volition  or   purpose.     It's   a 
pleasant  life  for  a  single  man  like  myself. 
And  when  a  fellow  can  get  off  a  real  spicy 
thing,  there's  no  difficulty  in  selling  it  for 
a  good  price.     Try  your  hand— you  used 
to  be  a  dashing  writer  !  " 

"  Become  a  writer  for  the  city  press  !  I 
am  afraid  I  lack  the  capacity.  I  might 
write  well  enough  for  a  country  newspaper ; 
but  I  fear  I  could  get  up  nothing  worthy  of 
publication  in  a  metropolitan  journal." 

"  You  never  made  a  greater  mistake  in 
your  life  !  The  Heeald,  which  is  the  Ju- 
piter Tonans  of  the  Journalistic  Olympus, 
is  edited  with  less  hterary  ability  than  any 
respectable  newspaper  that  I  read ;  yet  it 
pays  better  for  its  articles  than  any  other 
member  of  the  New  York  press.  Matter, 
not  style ;  novelty ;  items ;  food  for  thought ; 


something  readable  in  its  stuff,  not  in  its 
mere  expression  ;  is  what  Bennett  likes  to 
print.  The  polish,  the  rhetorical  excel- 
lence, is  not  esteemed  of  any  great  impor- 
tance. Of  course,  the  more  grace  and 
sprightliness  there  is  in  the  composition  of 
an  article,  the  better  it  takes  ;  but  a  rough 
diamond,  so  it's  a  real  diamond,  sells  as 
well  as  if  the  gem  were  polished." 

"  Do  you  make  a  hving  by  your  pen  ? " 
asked  Vernon,  flattering  himself  that  Court- 
nay  was  an  inferior  writer  to  himself. 

"  Yes.  My  pen  is  my  entire  reliance. 
For  sis  months  I  have  had  no  other  re- 
source. But  I  cannot  say  that  I  hve  in 
any  grand  style !  If  I  would  write  regu- 
larly, and  take  the  necessary  exercise,  I 
could  make  from  twenty-five  to  thirty-five 
dollars  a  week  !  " 

"  Exercise !  "  echoed  Vernon.  "  What 
has  the  exercise  that  you  take  to  do  with 
making  your  pen  pay  you  ?  " 

"  Oh !     You  don't  know  ?    Why,  there's 
an  intimate   connection  between  a  Bohe- 
mian's exercise  and  his  pay.     In  the  first 
place,  you  must  walk  about,  with  your  eyes 
and  ears  Avide  open,  and  your  wits  on  the 
qui  tke,  to  get  telling  subjects  ;  although 
a  very  dry  fact  will  frequently  do,  if  you 
give  Fancy  full  reign,  and  have  the  embel- 
lishing faculty  in  a  high  state  of  cultiva- 
tion.    In  the  next   place,  after  you  have 
written  an  article,  it  must  be  disposed  of; 
and  in  making  this  disposition  the  locomo- 
tive powers  are  tasked  to  the  utmost,  in  the 
tramping   from   one  printing-office  to   an- 
other, in  the  search  of  a  purchaser.    I  go  to 
the  Heeald  first ;  then  make  the  rounds 
till  I  effect  a  sale,  trying  the  other  dailies 
next,  and  then  the  weeklies.     But  aren't 
they  a  devilish  gruff  set  of  people— these 
editors !     They  will  snap  a  fel 


"How  do  they  pay  for  articles— by  the 
column  ?  "  interposed  Vernon,  highly  inte- 
rested in  Courtnay's  revelations. 

"  Sometimes  by  the  column  ;  sometimes 
by  the  article.  The  Heeald  has  paid  me 
as  much  as  five  dollars  for  a  third  of  a 
column.     It  was  a  highly  imaginative  piece 

a  glowing  and  vivid  description  of  the 

murder  of  six  school  marms,  by  a  four-year- 
old  'rebel,'  in  Charleston,  purporting  to 
have  been  written  from  the  spot ;  but,  in 
fact,  done  up  in  the  Astor  Library.    The 


101 


BOLORES. 


average  pay  is  about  seven  or  eight  dollars 
a  column— often  as  low  as  three  dollars  in 
the  third  rate  papers  ;  frequently  as  high  as 
fifteen  or  twenty  in  the  thunderers." 

"  I  think  I  could  write  some  interesting 
papers  on  the  condition  of  affairs  in  the 
South— do  you  suppose  I  could  get  them 
off?" 

"  I  know  it !  Why  not  throw  them  into 
the  shape  of  letters—'  Special  Correspond- 
ence, etc.,  etc' — and  draw  to  some  extent 
on  your  imagination  for  high  coloring? 
The  Herald  would  jump  at  tbem  in  that 
form !  " 

'•Questionable  morality,  that?  A  man 
has  no  more  right  to  practice  a  deception 
on  the  public  at  large  than  he  has  to  swin- 
dle an  individual ! " 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  have  to  deceive ! '  The 
publishers  do  that !  They  make  a  habit  of 
buying  fictions  of  the  kmd,  and  of  publish- 
ing them.  You  can  tell  them  they  are  writ- 
ten in  New  York— that  will  not  "affect  the 
sale !  " 

"  I  prefer  not  to  be  a  party  to  such  doubt- 
ful transactions  !  "  responded  Vernon. 

"Very  weU!  Fix  them  up  in  the  form 
you  suggested— but  youll  not  get  as  much 
for  them  !  " 

"  That  is  the  Heralb  establishment  over 
on  the  corner,  isn't  it  ?  AVhat  a  magnifi- 
cent building  !  The  office  must  be  perfectly 
splendid  ?  " 

"Yes.  Did  you  never  go  through  it? 
I  tell  3'ou  what  we'll  do  ;  we'll  walk  over  ; 
and  you  can  see  '  old  P ,'  the  manager. 


and  find  out  -whether  it  is  Avorth  your  trou- 
ble to  -svrite  the  papers  you  speak  of.  We 
can  then  get  a  sight  of  the  inside;  but 
there's  not  much  to  be  seen  on  the  editors' 
floor." 

Vernon  readily  assented  to  Courtnay's 
proposition,  and  sallied  forth  under  his 
ciceroneage.  They  made  their  way  across 
Broadway,  avoiding  omnibuses,  carts,  ex- 
press wagons,  and  the  hundred  other  kinds 
of  vehicles,  that  were  rumbling  and  dash- 
ing up  and  down,  and  reached  the  curb- 
stone in  front  of  the  splendid  structure  on 
the  corner  of  Ann  and  Broadway,  which,  in 
its  architectural  beauty,  surpasses  all  the 
public  edifices  of  Gotham,  and  stands  a 
monument  to  the  taste  and  enterprise  of  its 
remarkable  owner. 


I  Inside  the  glass  doors,  crowds  of  persons 
of  every  degree  and  age  were  passing  for- 
ward to  the  counters  behind  which  the  in- 
defatigable clerks  were  busily  engaged  re- 
ceiving advertisements,  subscriptions,  and 
changing  money,  or  distributing  letters  and 
papers,  and,  with  an  unparalleled  industry 
and  politeness,  serving  the  wants  of  the 
unceasing  throng. 

The  lobby  Avas  full  of  a  variety  of  human 
beings,  waiting  for  their  turn,  flocking 
around  the  writing-stands,  dashing  off  the 
announcements  v,-hich  they  desired  to  have 
appear,  as  fast  as  the  execrable  pens  which 
Mr.  Bennett  supplies  for  the  use  of  his  cus- 
tomers would  admit. 

Vernon  started  to  open  one  of  the  doors 
near  the  corner,  but  was  checked  by  Court- 
nay. 

"Not  that  way!  Here!  Follow  me  !  " 
said  the  Bohemian,  then  passing  to  a  side 
entrance  on  Ann  street.  "  This  is  the  way 
to  ai.proach  the  editors'  rooms.  We  must 
mount  these  stairs !  " 

Vernon  accompanied  his  friend,  winding 
and  winding  up  the  circular  stairway  until 
his  limbs  grew  weak  and  his  head  grew 
dizzy. 

"  A  card,  sir  !  "  was  the  salutation  of  an 
African  gentleman  of  much  suavity  of  man- 
ner and  a  bandaged  eye,  handing  a  piece  of 
square  pasteboard,  as  he  showed  the  South- 
erners into  the  waiting  room,  and,  with  a 
most  affable  smile,  pointed  them  to  a  seat 
on  a  very  comfortable  green  velvet  covered 
sofa. 

"Write,  'For  Mr.  P .     E.Vernon 

of  N.   C      That's   the   way  ! "  whispered 
Court  nay. 

It  was  done  ;  and,  in  a  very  brief  space 
of  time,  the  enlightened  and  courteous 
freednian  returned  and  blandly  announced 

that  Mr.  P was  at  the  Council  Board, 

but  would  be  out  shortly.     Then,  smiling, 
bowing,  walking  backwards,  he  retired. 

"  The  Council  Board  !  "  ejaculated  Ver- 
non,    "  What's  that  ?  "  to  Courtnay. 

"  The  editors  meet  every  day  for  consult- 
ation. The  Herald  is  conducted  by  a  con- 
gress of  editors.  Mr.  Bennett  seldom  comes 
down  ;  and  his  son  is  an  imbe — " 

"  — ^Ir.  Vernon  !  "  said  a  rough  bearish- 
looking  man,  with  a  giant's  head  on  Lis 
shoulders,  and  an  impatient  hurried  man- 


DOLORES. 


lOc 


ner  that  seemed  to  say,  "  Come,  be  quick, 
sir.  I  have  no  time  to  idle  away,"  putting 
his  phiz  in  the  door  and  englooming  the 
apartment  with  a  black  thunder-cloud  of  a 
frown. 

Courtnay  pinched  Vernon  and  whispered, 

"  There's  old  P !  "     Vernon  sprang  up 

and  walked  to  the  door. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Vernon  !  "  said  he. 

"You  wanted  to  see  me?"  growled 
P . 

"  Yes,  sir  !     I  called  for  that  purpose." 

"  Come  then— what  is  it  ?    Talk  fast !  " 

"  Are  you  in  the  habit  of  purchasing  mat- 
ter for  publication  1 " 

"  We  pay  for  what  we  print !  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  do,  sir.  But  I 
asked  if  it  is  your  custom  to  buy." 

"  And  I  told  you  that  it  is  our  custom  to 
pay  for  what  we  print." 

"  I  perceive,  sir,  that  yoii  are  in  a  face- 
tious mood ! "  said  Vernon,  his  blood 
mounting. 

The  idea  dumbfoundered  P .     He  in 

a  facetious  mood !  Flattered  at  the  sugges- 
tion that  he  was  capable  of  such  a  thing, 
he  laughed  a  little  dry  laugh,  and  ex- 
plained : 

'■  You  fail  to  understand  me.  We  take 
manuscripts,  I  meant  to  say ;  and,  if  we 
use  them,  if  they  are  published  in  our  col- 
umns, we  pay  liberally  for  them." 

"  Then  you  make  no  contracts  for  articles 
on  particular  subjects  ?  " 

"  Sometimes ! " 

"  I  thought  I  would  offer  you  a  series  of 
papers  on  the  '  situation  '  at  the  South." 

"  If  they  are  able,  we  will  buy  them. 
Let's  see  the  manuscripts  !  " 

"  They  are  not  written.  I  wanted  to 
know  whether  you  would  probably  buy 
anything  of  the  kind." 

'■  We  don't  buy  without  first  examining 
the  matter." 

"  So  I  presumed  !  Shall  I  submit  the  ar- 
ticles to  you,  when  written  ?  " 

"  Yes — one  at  a  time  !  If  we  like  the 
first,  we'll  look  at  the  others." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I'll  bring  one  to  mor- 
row ! " 

Mr.  P here  cut  the  colloquy  short, 

and  dodged  into  his  private  editorial  room  ; 
and  Vernon  rejoined  Courtnay. 

"  I  am  without  a  room-mate,"  said  Court- 


nay, "and  have  a  very  nice  room.  Sup- 
pose yim  club  in  with  me.  We  can  get 
good  comfortable  board  in  the  house  for 
forty  dollars  a  month — not  a  very  fashion- 
able location,  but  good  enough.  Over  on 
North  Moore  street,  out  of  the  noise  !  " 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  I  would  like  to 
get  good  board  cheaja — as  to  location,  it 
makes  no  difference.  Staying  at  the  Astor 
House  wiU  break  me !  " 

"  Certainly  I'm  in  earnest !  "  responded 
Courtnay.  "  Come  be  my  chum,  and  we 
co.n  work  together — form  a  literary  partner- 
ship !  After  a  while  you  can  rent  desk- 
room  in  a  law-office,  and  commence  prac- 
ticing. By  being  Bohemian  and  lawyer 
both,  you  can  make  a  living,  and  gradually 
build  up  a  practice  and  reputation." 

"  By  Jove,  I'll  do  it !  I'll  go  this  after- 
noon ! " 

"  Good !  Let's  take  a  drink  in  honor  of 
the  compact ! " 

And  Courtnay  pulled  his  companion 
down  into  a  cellar  ;  and  they  "  smiled." 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  boarding-house,  into  which  Vernon 
was  introduced  by  Courtnay,  was  a  pleasant 
place,  and  for  its  convenience  and  comforts, 
was  decidedly  the  cheapest  on  Manhattan 
Island. 

The  landlady  was  peerless.  She  was 
kind,  attentive,  and  as  warm-hearted  and 
lovable  a  woman  as  ever  made  sunshine  in 
a  bright  home. 

For  this  reason,  if  for  no  other,  Vernon 
was  fortunately  situated.  But,  in  addition, 
there  was  another  advantage  arising  from 
his  association  with  Courtnay  :  Very  often 
he  failed  to  sell  his  best  manuscripts  ;  but 
Courtnay,  who  was  wise  in  the  ways  of 
Gotham,  and  who  had  acquired  a  deep  and 
intricate  knowledge  of  the  character,  and  a 
penetrating  insight  into  the  nature  of  those 
peculiar  animals— the  newspaper  publishers 
of  New  York— could  always  take  these  re- 
jected wares,  and  secure  excellent  prices. 

There  was  a  disadvantage  attendant  on 
this  connection,  however,  v/hich  subjected 


lOG 


DOLORES. 


Vernon  to  serious  inconvenieoce.  He  soon 
found  that  Courtnay  was  fonder  of  frolick- 
ing than  of  hard  work,  and  that  he  was  ad- 
dicted to  intemperate  drinking.  lie  could 
have  excused  this,  if  Courtnay  had  not  in- 
variably grown  quarrelsome,  while  in  a  state 
of  intoxication,  and  surrendered  himself 
more  and  more  completely  every  day  to  the 
mastery  of  this  fearful  hahit. 

Still,  from  his  articles  for  the  Herald,  to 
which  he  contributed  occasionally,  having 
made  an  impression  on  P ,  by  liis  pa- 
pers on  the  "  Situation  "  at  the  South,  and 
from  his  writings  for  the  weekly  papers,  he 
earned  enough  to  maintain  himself  in  toler- 
able condition,  and  was  enabled  to  send  re- 
mittances to  his  family  with  some  regu- 
larity. From  the  start  he  paid  his  ex- 
penses, and  kept  the  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars,  which  he  brought  from  home,  laid 
by  for  a  rainy  day.  So  he  got  smoothly 
and  happily  through  the  Summer  and 
Fall. 

Vernon  rented  desk  room  in  General 
Carson's  law  office,  soon  after  his  arrival  in 
New  York,  and  spent  the  hours  between 
ten  A.  M.  and  four  P.  M.  in  prosecuting  hi? 
professional  studies,  and  waiting  for  the 
clients  who  were  confidently  expected  to 
ultimately  seek  his  services.  The  money 
he  paid  for  rent,  and  the  few  law  books 
that  were  called  a  library,  out  of  extreme 
courtesy,  was  badly  expended,  for  it  was 
the  last  of  November  before  he  had  a  call. 
And  precious  time,  that  might  have  been 
devoted  to  writing,  and  that  would  have 
saved  him  much  night  toil,  was  lost  in  this 
same  way.  Courtnay  told  him  this  ;  but 
he  refused  to  relinquish  the  hope  of  work- 
ing himself  into  eminence  as  an  advocate, 
and  positively  declined  to  abandon  his  pro- 
fession. 

One  morning  after  weary  months  of  pa- 
tient waiting— a  bleak  November  morning 
■ — the  first  client  came, 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Vernon's  ofiice  ? "  inquired 
this  visitor  of  the  office-boy,  who  stood 
gaping  with  astonishment  at  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Do  you  wish  to  see  him  pro- 
fessionally ?  " 

"I  do!" 

"  Then  I'll  see  if  he's  disengaged.  Take 
a  seat,  sir.' 


Going  out,  and  returning  immediately, 
the  boy  continued  : 

"  You  can  see  him,  sir.  In  that  room,  if 
you  please  !  " 

Of  course  he  could  see  him.  The  boy 
knew  that  well  enough.  But  then  he  liked 
Vernon,  and  did  not  wish  to  impress  the 
first  client  with  the  idea  that  the  young 
lawyer  could  be  always  fotind  disengaged. 
That  might  have  injured  Vernon's  pros- 
pects. 

The  stranger  entered  the  room  in  which 
Vernon  sat  poring  over  Chitty,  and,  see- 
ing him,  exclaimed : 

"  Ah,  IMiijor  !  I  am  delighted  to  find  you 
looking  so  well." 

"  Why  !  Adams,  how  are  you  ?  I  had 
no  idea  that  you  were  in  New  York." 

There  was  great  cordiality  in  Vernon's 
manner — he  could  not  have  given  his  dear- 
est friend  a  wiirmer  greeting.  And  this 
fact  evokes  an  inquiry,  which  some  student 
of  Human  Nature  will  please  have  the 
goodness  to  answer,  as  it  is  concerning  a 
point  upon  which  the  world  needs  enlight- 
enment—  W/iy  is  it  that  old  animofdties  are 
so  quiddy  and  certainly  forgotten  icJien  ene- 
mies meet  in  strange  lands  ?     Why  ? 

'•  Only  been  here  a  few  days,"  said  Paul 
Adams,  after  the  usual  questions  had  been 
asked  and  answered,  and  several  topics  had 
been  exhausted.  "  I  have  some  law  busi- 
ness, and  desire  to  consult  you.  Doing 
well  here,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Yes— tolerably  !  " 

"Can  you  spare  me  an  hour  or  two  of 
your  time  ?  " 

"  "With  pleasure  !  I  shall  be  disengaged 
all  day." 

Adams,  having  obtained  this  permission 
to  proceed  to  business,  stated  his  case  with 
luminous  directness. 

He  professed  to  have  learned,  from  one 
source  and  another,  that  Dolores  was  in 
Rochester,  holding  the  position  of  gover- 
ness, in  the  family  of  a  wealthy  widower ; 
that  she  was  living  in  comfort  and  luxu- 
riance, and  was  moving  in  the  best  society 
of  that  city ;  but  that  she  had  not  escaped 
the  suspicion  of  impurity,  although  she 
was  upheld  by  l.er  employer,  whose  influ-  ' 
ence  in  the  community  was  sufficient  to 
prevent  her  from  suffering  ostracism  on  ac- 
count of  the  scandals  in  circulation  against 


DOLORES. 


107 


her  reputation.  lie  professed,  also,  to  have 
information  that  the  widower  with  whom 
she  was  living  enjoyed  her  favors,  and  to 
shield  himself,  as  well  as  her,  exercised  his 
influence  to  hush  up  all  rumors  against 
her,  and  to  cover  her  misbehavior  from  the 
eye  of  his  acquaintance. 

He  stated,  further,  that  he  had  instituted 
a  suit  for  divorce  in  the  North  Carolina 
Court ;  but  found  that  criminality  had  to 
be  established  so  positively,  that  he  had 
abandoned  the  proceedings  ;  and  had  come 
to  New  York,  where  he  could  prosecute 
under  more  favorable  circumstances  and 
where  he  would  have  a  better  opportunity 
to  secure  the  necessary  evidence,  to  en- 
deavor to  secure  a  divorce  a  vinculo  matri- 
monii. 

He  then  asked  Vernon  to  accept  the 
management  of  the  case ;  premising  that 
confidence  in  his  ability  and  integrity,  fami- 
ly connection,  and  so  forth,  induced  this 
selection  of  counsel ;  and  insisting  that  the 
matter  was  one  of  the  greatest  delicacy, 
and  that  Vernon  ought  not  to  decline  to 
act,  as  he  could  better  protect  Dolores,  if 
she  were  innocent,  than  any  other  attorney 
whose  services  could  be  employed,  and  that 
if  she  were  guilty  his  duty  to  society  ought 
to  impel  him  to  do  what  he  could  to  re- 
dress the  wrong  she  had  committed  against 
social  law  ;  and  referring  to  the  unpleasant 
cousequences  of  a  public  imputation  on  the 
virtue  of  his  wife,  of  which  he  could  be 
relieved,  Avhether  successful  or  unsuccesful, 
as,  in  the  latter  case,  Vernon's  assertion  of 
her  innocence  would  stop  every  slanderous 
tongue  in  C town. 

Vernon  was  determined  when  Adams 
commenced  making  his  statement  to  pe- 
remptorily refuse  to  accept  the  case  ;  but,  so 
wily  was  the  client  in  his  presentaiion  of 
his  request,  that,  at  the  conclusion  of  his 
remarks,  he  was  won  over  completely. 

"  In  view  of  my  friendship  for  Mrs. 
Adams,"  Vernon  replied,  "  I  do  not  think 
it  would,  be  proper  for  me  to  act  in  this 
matter ;  under  ordinary  circumstances,  I 
would  not ;  but,  if  I  inay  befriend  her,  pos- 
sibly, by  turning  prosecutor,  I  think  I  had 
better  consent  to  do  so.  Before  committing 
myself,  however,  I  must  express  my  con- 
viction that  she  is  wholly  guiltless ;  but, 
if,  with  the  understanding  that  such  is  my 


opinion,  you  still  desire  to  secure  my  ser- 
vices, you  can  have  them." 

Although  Paul  Adams  had  mingled  de- 
liberate falsehood,  wild  speculation,  and 
ascertained  fact,  in  his  statement  to  Ver- 
non ;  he  really  believed,  nevertheless, 
that  Dolores  was  guilty,  and  that  an  inves- 
tigation of  her  conduct  would  establish  his 
hypothesis  as  truth.  He  had  a  few  facts — 
that  Dolores  was  in  Rochester — that  she 
was  living  in  the  family  of  a  widower — 
that  envious  persons  in  the  city  had  uttered 
calumnies  against  her  ;  he  held  the  theory 
that  all  women  are  weak  and  virtueless  ; 
and  upon  these  facts  and  this  theory  he 
built  his  supposition.  Unfounded  as  it 
was,  he  was  convinced  of  its  correctness  ; 
and,  consequently,  did  not  hesitate  when 
he  received  Vernon's  response. 

"So  much  the  better!"  he  cried.  "If 
you  are  assured  of  her  innocence,  you  will 
not  proceed  without  incontestable  proofs  ; 
and  I  am  willing  to  rely  on  your  energy  to 
have  a  thorough  search  made  for  evidence. 
However,  I  have  no  doubt  of  her  guilt !  " 

"  Then,  I  will  employ  a  detective  and 
have  the  case  worked  up.  Meanwhile,  we 
will  wait  patiently.  It  will  take  time,  and 
a  great  deal  of  money,  Adams  !  " 

"  I  know.  I  can  afford  to  spend  a  great 
deal.     I  will  be  liberal,  Vernon  !  " 

Vernon  made  no  reply.  Still,  he  could 
not  help  thinking  that,  if  Adams  was 
liberal,  it  would  be  the  first  time.  He  Avas 
not  shrewd  enough  to  penetrate  the  mys- 
tery of  his  client's  motive,  and  was  not 
aware  that  success  in  this  suit  was  a  for- 
tune for  the  suitor. 

"  How  much  money  do  you  want  ?  "  con- 
tinued Adams.  "  Will  two  hundred  dol- 
lars do  for  a  start — to  pay  expenses  I  mean. 
I  don't  include  your  fee  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  more  than  enough  !  " 

Adams  handed  over  the  cash ;  Vernon 
pocketed  it,  gave  a  receipt,  promised  to  act 
without  delay,  and  agreed  to  keep  his  cli- 
ent informed  of  every  development.  Then 
the  interview  terminated. 

As  soon  as  Adams  departed,  Vernon 
walked  out,  and  went  in  search  of  a  de- 
tective. He  found  one  Jacob  Kcensccnt, 
who  had  good  recommendations ;  employed 
him  and  gave  him  instructions ;  and,  that 
afternoon,  hurried  him  off  to  Rochester. 


108 


DOLORES. 


Adams  vent  bark  to  his  hotel  perfect- 
ly delighted.  lie  had  played  for  a  high 
stake,  and  was  under  the  impression  that 
he  had  won.  lie  knew  Vernon  thorough- 
ly, and  appreciated  his  ability  ;  but  it  was 
not  his  talent  that  was  wanted.  Adams 
was  smart  enough  to  know  that  Dolores, 
as  soon  as  proceedings  were  commenced, 
would  apply  to  Vernon  for  counsel ;  and  he 
was  unwilling  to  have  such  an  antagonist 
watching  his  manoeuvres.  Consequently 
it  was  to  his  interest  to  place  Vernon  in 
a  position  in  which  his  honor  would  com- 
pel him  to  decline  conversing  with  her  on 
this  subject.  It  might  turn  out  that  there 
was  no  evidence  against  Dolores,  and  in 
that  event  evidence  would  have  to  be  sub- 
orned. If  this  shoiJd  be  necessary,  Ver- 
non would  return  his  fee,  throw  up  the 
case  ;  but  his  high  toned  professional  punc- 
tilio would  restrain  him  from  going  over 
to  the  other  side,  or  revealing  any  designs 
within  his  knowledge,  however  much  his 
feelings  might  prompt  that  course. 

No  wonder  Adams  was  delighted ;  he 
had  accomplished  almost  a  miracle. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Keexscext  went  directly  to  Rochester, 
and,  with  the  clues  given  to  him  by  Ver- 
non, commenced  work  perseveringly.  He 
made  searching  but  well-disguised  inquiries, 
and  kept  a  close  watch  on  Dolores.  In  a 
few  days  he  got  into  a  situation  to  make  a 
thorough  investigation,  and  obtained  facts 
which  soon  led  him  to  a  conclusion. 

The  following  letter  to  Vernon  will  give 
the  reader  the  details  : 

Rochester,  Dec.  10th,  1866. 
Deae  Sm: 
I  have  pressed  matters  since  I  left  town. 
I  found  where  Mrs.  A.  lived  ;  got  in  with  a 
shrewd  Yankee  girl,  a  servant  in  the  fami- 
ly ;  had  Mrs.  A.  pumped  thoroughly.  The 
result  was  an  unsatisfactory  report.  I  then 
got  acquainted  with  Mr.  M.  (He  don't  look 
like  a  Lothario !)  He  invited  me  to  his 
house.     (I  had  to  play  the  heavy  swell,  and 


you  may  be  certain  that  it  has  cost  a  good 
sum.)  I  went,  and  met  Mrs.  A.  Found 
her,  just  as  every  one  told  me,  when  I  in- 
quired, a  very  pretty,  but  green  woman  ; 
and  £0  sad  looking !  I  got  into  her  confi- 
dence, turned  her  wrong  side  out,  and  found 
nothing  against  her.  She  told,  me  the  sto- 
ry of  her  flight ;  gave  me  a  history  of  her 

movements  from  the  time  she  left  C 

town  till  now  ;  and  casually  mentioned,  at 
different  times  the  names  of  all  the  parties 
whom  she  saw,  talked  with,  stopped  with, 
or  travelled  with  between  there  and  here. 
I  have  her  record  in  Rochester,  without  a 
day's  break  I  wrote  to  all  the  parties 
whose  names  she  mentioned  ;  got  replies  ; 
and  putting  their  testimony  and  that  of 
people  here  together,  I  regret  to  say  that  I 
am  forced  to  believe  that  she  is  not  guilty. 
Please  send  me  fifty  dollars  to  pay  my  bills, 
and  fare  home. 

Respectfully,  &c., 

Jacob  Keenscent. 
To  R.  Vernon,  Esq., 
No.  24-  B'way,  N.  Y. 

^Vhen  Vernon  received  this  communica- 
tion he  sent  a  note  to  Adams  asking  him  to 
call  immediately ;  and,  in  an  hour's  time, 
the  messenger  returned  and  announced  Ad- 
ams' approach. 

When  Adams  entered,  Vernon  handed 
him  Keenscent's  letter.  Adams  read  it  hur- 
riedly.    Vernon  stood  silently. 

"  Well,"  said  Adams,  "  what  do  you  in- 
tend to  do  ?  It's  plain  that  this  detective 
has  been  bought  up.  Shall  I  employ  an- 
other at  a  larger  price  1 " 

"  No !  "  responded  Vernon.  "  If  you  are 
not  satisfied  of  the  correctness  of  his  state- 
ment, I  will  make  the  thing  certain,  one 
way  or  the  other.  I'll  play  spy  myself. 
I'll  go  to  Rochester,  and  find  out  the  truth. 
Of  course  I'll  not  be  a  detective  ;  but  I'll 
employ  one,  send  him  up,  follow  him,  and 
watch  to  see  whether  he  is  idling  or  work- 
ing faithfully." 

"  Just  as  you  say  !  Have  you  any  monej'  ? 
If  not,  I'll  supply  you  !  " 

"  Give  me  a  hundred  dollars.  If  I  need 
more,  I'll  draw  on  you !  " 

The  arrangements  having  been  complet- 
ed, Vernon  left  the  city  the  next  morning 
and  went  to  Rochester.     He  remained  there 


DOLORES, 


109 


a  fovtiiiglit ;  and  then  returned  unexpected- 
ly. As  soon  as  lie  got  back  to  tlie  city  he 
sent  for  Adams,  who  hastened  to  receive  his 
report. 

"  Well,  Vernon,  the  result  of  your  visit 
in  a  few  words  !  "  said  Adams,  with  consid- 
erable emotion. 

"  Then,  your  wife  is  as  free  from  all  sem- 
blance of  criminality  as  the  chariest  vestal 
that  ever  lived." 

"Indeed!  You  don't  think  so?"  ex- 
claimed Adams,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  I  do — most  decidedly  !  She  is  not  only 
a  pure, virtuous  woman;  but  she  still  loves 
you.  She  wants  a  reconciliation,  on  her 
own  account,  but  especially  on  account  of 
the  children." 

"  Her  children  !  She  only  had  one  when 
she  left  the  South." 

"  The  second  was  born  within  three 
months  after  her  flight !  She  confesses  the 
wrong  of  having  left  you  ;  but  extenuates 
the  circumstance  by  intimating  that  you 
gave  her  just  cause.  If  such  is  the 
case,  your  duty  is  plain.  Go!  get  her  and 
the  children ;  cany  her  and  them  home ; 
and  be  happy  !  Let  all  thought  of  divorce 
be  banished ! " 

"  But  that  is  impossible  !  It  is  too  late 
for  me  think  of  taking  her  back — I  have 
been  denouncing  her  as  an  adulteress  !  " 

"  And  do  you  intend  to  let  a  fear  of  what 
the  world  will  say  deter  you  from  the  per- 
formance of  a  grave  duty  !    Bah  !  " 

Adams  turned  red  when  Vernon  said  this 
with  a  vehemence  of  scorn.  Then,  after  a 
moment,  he  remarked  : 

"  We'll  dismiss  that  idea  !  Now  about 
the  prosecution  of  the  suit :  I  can  get  evi- 
dence that  will  serve  my  purpose  ;  and,  if 
you  will  use  that  evidence,  without  asking 
any  questions  as  to  its  character  or  source, 
and  will  push  the  trial,  I  WILL  GIVE  Tou  A 

THOUSAKD  DOLLAKS ! " 

Adams  in  his  whole  life  had  never  in  the 
aggregate  betrayed  more  weakness  than  in 
making  this  ofler.  He  appreciated  this  in 
a  second. 

Vernon's  eyes  blazed  a  moment ;  and, 
then,  he  sprang  at  Adams  with  the  fierce- 
ness of  a  tiger,  and  clutched  him,  and 
dragged  him  to  the  door.  "  Go,  you 
damned  villain — go  !  "  he  muttered,  in  a 
horrible,  hissing  tone,   kicking  him  furi- 


ously and  sending  him  spinning  down  the 
staircase. 


night. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Vernon,  let's  go  to  the  Broadway  to- 
' Romeo   and  Juliet'    is    on    the 
bills !  " 

This  was  Court  nay's  salutation  to  Roland, 
as  he  entered  the  little  attic  room  which 
they  occupied,  one  evening  about  a  month 
subsequent  to  the  violent  scene  between 
Vernon  and  Adams. 

"  I've  no  money  !  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Never  mind  that !  I've  enough  to  get 
a  couple  of  seats  in  the  gallery.  We  Bohe- 
mians oughtn't  to  be  proud  !  " 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  have  no  work  for 
tonight,  and  will  go." 

Two  men,  fonder  of  tlie  Drama,  than 
Vernon  and  Courtuay,  were  not  to  be  found 
in  New  York.  They  spent  many  a  hard- 
earned  dolhtr  frequenting  the  theatres — dol- 
lars that  they  would  have  devoted  to  the 
purchase  of  no  other  mere  luxury.  So  far 
as  they  were  concerned  there  was  very  lit- 
tle preference  entertained  for  particular 
seats.  A  front  place  in  the  gallery-  was  as 
pleasant  as  a  seat  in  the  orchestra  chairs. 
They  went  to  see,  and  hear,  not  to  be  seen. 

So  this  night,  having  finished  their  sup- 
pers, they  lit  their  pipes,  and  sallied  forth, 
crossing  over  to  Broadway,  turning  up 
which  they  walked  leisurely  to  the  theatre, 
and  reached  their  seats  some  minutes  be- 
fore the  curtain  ascended. 

A  few  evenings  previous  Florence  had 
played  "  The  Ticket-of-Leave  Man  "  before 
a  very  large  audience  in  this  same  theatre  ; 
and  on  that  occasion  Vernon  and  Courtnay 
occupied  the  same  seats  they  now  secured, 
in  the  front  row  of  the  gallery.  The  friends 
had  not  failed  to  appreciate  the  acting  of 
the  entire  company  that  evening ;  but  were 
most  particularly  struck  by  the  comicality 
of  the  personage  who  played  the  role  of 
Gresn  Jones. 

(.The  reatler  is  doubtless  aware  that  this 
character  is  an  exceedingly  comic  one : 
G.  J.  is  a  gentleman  of  wealth,  marries  a 


no 


DOLORES. 


professional  lady  of  song,  whose  notions 
are  rather  extravagant,  has  his  last  penny 
spent  to  gratify  his  wife's  whims  ;  when  he 
loses  his  fortune  Mrs.  O.  J.  teaches  him  the 
nohle  art  of  making  a  support  by  the  nim- 
ble use  of  his  shins  behind  the  footlights  ; 
he  is  relieved  by  a  legacy  that  unfortu- 
nately follows  the  fate  of  its  predecessor. 
G.  J.,  upon  being  reduced  to  poverty  a  sec- 
ond time,  protests  against  returning  to  the 
stage,  and  selects  a  less  dignified  but  more 
congenial  and  profitable  vocation,  becoming 
A  Mutton-Pie  Vendeii.  Much  to  the 
disgust  of  Mrs.  Saint  Everemond,  as  his 
wife  calls  herself  among  her  professional 
friends,  G.  J.  perambulates  the  streets,  cry- 
ing his  wares  in  stentorian  tones — "  Mut- 
ton-Pies !  Mutton-Pies  !  Only  a  PEN- 
NY!") 

The  part  was  personated  by  a  tow- 
headed,  dandyish-looking  actor,  who  usuallj 
filled  such  roles  as  Oswald  in  "  Lear ;  "  and 
filled  them  very  admirably,  too  —  always 
making  an  amusing  idiot. 

Taking  their  seats  and  waiting  for  Samp- 
son and  Gregory,  and  Abram  and  Balthasar 
to  open  the  play  with  their  clownish  figlit, 
Vernon  and  Courtnay  looked  over  the  bills 
to  see  the  cast  of  characters. 

"  Why,  Vernon,  our  friend  G.  J.  is  to 
play  Romeo  !     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  Indeed ! " 

Glancing  at  the  progranime,  Vernon  found 
it  as  Courtnay  had  said  :  Green  Jones  was  to 
be  transmogrified  for  the  occasion  into  the 
gentle  Eomeo. 

The  curtain  ascended.  The  first  act  was 
passing  off  with  decided  eclat.  But  Court- 
nay did  not  watch  the  stage.  He  was  preg 
nant  with  an  idea,  and  began  to  laugh  to 
himself  in  a  most  immoderate  manner. 

The  curtain  fell. 

Courtnay  leaned  far  over  the  railing  in 
his  front,  and  carefully  scrutinized  the 
faces  and  clothes  of  the  audience  below. 
Looking  down  intently  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  he  turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Vernon,  don't  you  think  a  large  part  of 
this  very  crowd  was  here  the  night  of  '  The 
Ticket-of-Leave  Man  ? '  " 

Vernon  looked  over  the  railing,  as  Court- 
nay had  done,  and  scanned  the  features  of 
the  immense  throng.  Tl»en,  after  a  leisurely 
inspection,  turned  round  and  replied : 


"  Why,  yes  ;  I  think  so !  I  see  a  great 
many  of  the  same  moustaches,  same  bald 
heads,  same  bonnets,  cloaks,  eyes,  and 
painted  cheeks." 

"  Well,  3'ou  get  back  a  row  or  two  before 
the  next  act  commences.  I  am  going  to 
create  an  explosion  !  " 

"  Be  careful,  Courtnay  !  I  wouldn't  do 
anything  rash  !  "  whispered  Vernon  as  he 
obeyed. 

The  drop-curtain  began  to  rise. 

Courtnay  instantly  became  the  picture  of 
attention.  He  leaned  over  to  catch  the 
words  of  the  actors.  He  fixed  his  eyes  in- 
tently on  the  stage.  His  face  was  without 
a  trace  of  the  merriment  that  struggled  in 
his  bosom. 

The  first  scene  of  this  act  closed. 

Still  Courtnay  did  not  make  any  move- 
ment ;  and  Vernon  began  to  feel  more  at 
ease. 

The  scenery  was  shifted.  The  frantic 
Komeo  flitted  through  Capulet's  garden — 
flitted  in  the  dim  light  of  a  very  pretty 
muslin  moon.  Juliet  apjieared  upon  the 
'  alcony,  and  commenced  the  rhajjsody  to 
which  the  Montague  replies  in  such  an  ear- 
nest strain. — Then  the  amorous  dialogue  of 
the  lovers  was  recited.  Juliet  commenced 
the  outburst,  "  Thou  knowest  the  mask  of 
night  is  on  my  face,  etc.,  etc."  The  audience 
was  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  in- 
tense interest. 

As  Juliet  concluded  the  speech  with  the 
words, 

"  Pardon  me, 
And  not  impute  tliis  yielding  to  light  love, 
Which  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered." 

Not  a  sound  was  audible  in  the  great  con- 
course that  hung  on  the  eloquence  of  Mrs. 
Bowers'  happy  rendition. 

Clasping  his  hands  in  a  fervor  of  passion  ; 
uplifting  his  eyes  with  a  world  of  love 
nestled  in  their  dilating  pupils  ;  Romeo  be- 
gan— 

"  Lady !  By  yonder  blessed  moon  I 
sw— ," 

Before  Montague  could  pronounce  the 
other  line  of  the  couplet,  a  shrill,  keen, 
powerful  voice  from  the  gallery  piped, 

"  MuTTox-piES  !  Mutton-pies  !  ONLY 
A  PENNY!" 


DOLOEES. 


Ill 


Romeo  staggered  ;  turned  pale ;  broke 
out  into  an  uproarious  "  Haw  !  haw  !  "  and 
made  liis  exit  amid  the  roars  of  the  au- 
dience. As  the  parquette,  dress-circle,  gal- 
leries, and  even  the  boxes,  resounded  with 
the  beating  of  sticks,  ringing  of  laughter, 
clapping  of  hands,  and  echoing  and  re- 
echoing shouts  afc  cat-calls,  the  daughtei- 
of  the  Capulet  fled  towards  her  kind  old 
nurse,  who,  it  may  be  supposed,  was  near 
by,  and  dropped  swooning  into  her 
arms. 

While  the  Bohemian's  Comedy  received 
its  applause,  the  curtain  fell  upon  the 
Tragedy  of  Shakspeare ! 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  Vernon  and 
Courtnay  made  their  escape  just  in  time  to 
avoid  arrest  by  a  "  knight  of  the  star,"  who, 
jumping  three  steps  at  each  leap,  bounded 
up  one  stairway,  while  they  descended  the 
other,  and  lost  themselves  in  the  throng  of 
pedestrians,  rushing  along  the  great  tho- 
roughfare, homewards  from  their  day's 
work,  at  a  quick,  nervous  pace. 

On  the  steps  of  the  Saint  Nicholas  they 
halted.  Standing  there,  when  they  ap- 
proached, was  a  neat,  dapper  little  gentle- 
man, tapping  the  toes  of  a  pair  of  highly- 
burnished  boots  with  a  silver-mounted  rat- 
tan. He  was  evidently  a  person  of  some 
force ;  for  his  eye  and  forehead,  with  that 
unerring  precision  with  which  physiognom}- 
proclaims  characteristics,  betokened  an  in- 
tellectual endowment  of  a  rare  and  power- 
ful order. 

Courtnay  saluted  this  person  and  was  re- 
ceived with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  Let  me  present  my  friend.  Major  Ver- 
non ! "  said  the  Bohemian.  "  Mr.  Silver- 
tongue  !  You  are  professional  brethren, 
and  should  be  acquainted." 

"  Very  happy !  "  quickly  responded  Mr. 
Silvertougue.  ''  I  know  Major  Vernon  by 
reputation.  I  have  been  intending  to  seek 
you  out,  sir,  "to  consult  you  in  regard  to  the 
character  of  a  person  from  your  State  with 
whom  I  have  had  some  disagreeable  deal- 
ings recently — a  Colonel  Adams  !  " 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Vernon,  with  an  aston- 
ished look. 

"  i'ou  know  him  ?  Yes  1 — I  supposed  so  ! 
He  informed  me  that  you  have  advised 
with  him  since  his  arrival  in  the  city." 

'■  He  employed  me   to  manage  a  case, 


which  I  subsequently  abandoned.  I  have 
not  met  him  for  a  month  or  more.  Is  he 
still  in  New  York?" 

"  Yes  !  "  answered  Silvertougue.  "  I  saw 
him  a  few  days  since.  He  is  a  very  strange 
person,  or  a  very  dishonorable  one,  I  must 
say,  Major !  " 

"  Yes  !  Somewhat  eccentric  in  his  no- 
tions of  honor ! " 

"  Courtnay  will  excuse  us,  I  am  sure," 
proceeded  Silvertougue  ;  "  and,  as  I  leave 
town  on  business  to-morrow  and  Avill  be 
absent  some  time,  with  your  consent,  Major, 
we  will  have  a  brief  professional  couversa- 
tion,  if  we  can  find  a  seat  inside.  Suppose 
we  walk  back  into  the  reading-room  !  " 

Vernon  looked  at  Courtnay.  He  said, 
"Don"t  mind  me — go  !  " 

With  this,  Vernon  followed  Silvertougue. 
They  walked  back  into  the  reading-room 
and  obtained  seats,  secluded  enough  to  be 
secure  from  interruption. 

Silvertougue  informed  Vernon  that 
Adams  had  employed  him  to  prosecute  the 
divorce  case  ;  that,  as  counsel,  he  had  sent 
a  detective  to  Rochester,  who,  upon  going 
there,  made  the  necessary  investigations 
and  repoi'ted  his  inability  to  procure  an 
iota  of  proof  to  sustain  an  allegation  of 
adultery  against  Mrs.  Adams ;  that  he  had 
not  rested  with  this,  but  had  gone  to  Roch- 
ester himself  and  found  that  the  detective 
was  right ;  that  he  then  met  with  Keen- 
scent,  who  accidentally  told  him  of  his  con- 
nection with  the  same  case — the  first  inti- 
mation he  had  of  Vernon's  having  been  the 
original  counsel ;  that  he  had  advised 
Adams  to  relinquish  the  determination  of 
proceeding  further ;  that  this  advice  was 
rejected  ;  that  a  proposition  to  suborn  tes- 
timony, accompanied  with  a  large  fee,  had 
been  made  ;  and  that  he  had  refused  this 
offer  peremptorily  but  respectfully. 

"  Your  experience,"  said  Vernon,  "  is  al- 
most identical  with  mine  !  " 

"  Well,"  continued  Silvertougue,  "  when 
I  refused,  he  left  my  office  on  Park  Row, 
and  entered  the  oiRce  of  an  attorney  named 
Shyster,  who  is  on  Tryon  Row — a  fellow 
that  does  a  very  dishonorable  sort  of  jjrac- 
tice !  Now  I  do  not  know  any  of  these  par- 
ties intimately  ;  but  I  have  inferred,  from 
Keenscent's  statement,  that  you  were  ac- 
quainted with  IMrs.  Adams  before  she  sep- 


112 


DOLORES. 


aratcd  from  licr  husband,  and  that  you  are 
kindly  disposed  towards  her." 

"  Your  inference  is  a  correct  one  !  " 

"  Then  I  say  this,  I  believe  from  Adams' 
proposition  to  me,  and  from  the  fact  of  his 
going  to  Shyster  immediately  afterwards, 
that  he  is  bent  upon  doing  his  wife  a  great 
wrong,  under  the  semblance  of  obtaining 
justice.  If  the  woman  is  innocent,  she 
merits  protection  ;  you  are  her  friend ;  she 
should  be  put  on  her  guard.  Therefore,  I 
come  to  you  and  tell  you  my  suspicions ; 
adjure  you  to  be  watchful,  if  you  desire  to 
protect  Mrs.  Adams ;  promise  to  join  you 
in  every  honorable  effort  to  defeat  the  infa- 
mous designs  of  this  villain !  " 

Vernon  rose,  as  Silvertongue  concluded  ; 
and  grasped  his  hand  warmly,  remarking  : 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  this  information.  I 
do  hold  Mrs.  Adams  in  great  esteem.  I 
•will  foil  her  husband's  schemings.  If  I  hear 
of  anything  important,  I  wUl  communicate 
■with  you.  Together,  we  may  be  instru- 
mental in  saving  a  very  lovable,  and  an  in- 
nocent lady  ;  and  in  bringing  a  scoundrel 
to  grief." 

"  Depend  upon  my  co-operation !  Good 
Night !" 

Silvertongue  extended  his  hand,  with 
these  -words,  as  Courtnay  rejoined  them  in 
the  lobby. 

Vernon  pressed  the  hand  of  this  honor- 
able lawyer  with  great  warmth,  and  bade 
him  farewell.  Seeing  that  Courtnay 
seemed  fatigued,  Veruon  proposed  to  go 
home ;  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  was  rapidly 
walking  down  Broadway  by  the  side  of  his 
chum,  pressing  in  the  direction  of  home. 

The  conference  between  Vernon  and  Sil- 
vertongue was  not  held  any  too  soon. 
That  very  night,  in  that  very  hotel,  two 
other  lawyers  were  perfecting  a  plan  to 
entrap  and  ruin  Dolores. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

EisTER  a  large  handsomely  furnished 
apartment  on  the  third  floor  front  of  the 
St.  Nicholas ;  and,  sitting  near  the  grate, 
in  earnest  consultation,  conducted  in  low, 


whispered  tones,  3'ou  will  find  a  couple  of 
as  depraved  wretches,  despite  the  ajipear- 
ance  of  respectability  that  both  present,  as 
the  millions  of  America  can  afford. 

Colonel  Paul  Adams,  who  occupies  the 
chair  on  the  right,  needs  no  introduction. 
He  is  unchanged  in  looks,  manners,  and 
morals,  as  he  now  sits  ii^  his  room,  on  ras- 
cality profoundly  bent. 

The  slick  personage  opposite  him  is 
George  Shyster,  Attorney  and  Counsellor 
at  Law,  of  No.  —  Tryou  Row.  He  is  a 
type  of  a  numerous  class  of  NeAv  York 
lawyers — men  who  attend  the  sessions  of 
the  Tombs  Courts,  and  the  sittings  of  the 
Police  Judges,  doing  business  for  a  client- 
age composed  of  the  lowest  criminals  of 
the  worst  wards — men  of  small  gifts  but 
of  vast  miscrupulousness ;  without  ac- 
quaintance with  the  principles  of  the  law, 
but  deeply  versed  in  the  trickery  and  petti- 
fogging of  the  profession  ;  having  no  fund 
of  learning  in  the  lore  of  the  Commenta- 
tors, but  with  limitless  acquisitions  in  the 
knowledge  of  humanity  —  men  who  are 
warm  espousers  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
great  Englishman  that  everybody  can  be 
bought — men  always  ready  to  defend  a 
thief,  to  purchase  the  perjury  of  a  wit- 
ness, to  secure  a  divorce  at  prices  rang- 
ing from  a  lottery  or  pawn  ticket  indefi- 
nitely upwards. 

Mr.  George  Shyster  was  a  smirking, 
smiling,  oily-tongued  scoundrel— but  no 
worse  than  his  host  and  client ;  only  the 
latter  was  more  prudent  and  possessed  far 
superior  talent. 

"WTiat  an  irrepressibly  brilliant  Tombs 
lawyer  Adams  would  have  made  ! 

Adams  is  talking.     He  says  : 

"  You  think  there  is  no  danger  of  detection, 
exposure,  and  even  worse  consequences? 
I  will  not  scruple  to  take  any  course  that 
is  safe  ;  but  I  do  not  care  to  get  myself  into 
prison." 

"  There's  not  the  slightest  trouble.  The 
whole  affair  can  be  managed  with  such 
delicacy  that  it  wiU  never  provoke  a  com- 
ment. I  have  had  an  extensive  business 
of  this  kind,  and  havfe  never  been  caught 
yet,"  confidently  rejoined  the  practitioner 
from  Tryon  Row.  "  There  was  the  Blower 
case,  which  I  fixed  nicejj-  without  the  pub- 
lic's knowing  a  word  of  the  matter  until  it 


DOLORES. 


113 


was  all  over  ;  and  then,  only  a  month  ago, 
I  succeeded  gloriously  in  the  Jones  case— 
the  defendant  was  rich  and  influential  but 
I " 

■'—But  you  didn't  have  an  enraged  and 
indignant  Vernon  Avatching  you !  '•' 

"Oh!  There's  nothing  to  be  feared! 
If  he's  so  hot  headed  and  chivalrous— such 
a  fool  as  to  repel  the  offer  of  a  bonus  with 
violence,  instead  of  accepting  it  as  a  sensi- 
ble person  would  have  done— he  is  too  high 
strung  to  stoop  low  enough  to  balk  us— he 
is  not  one  of  our  sort ;  and,  you,  know, 
'  It  takes  a  rogue  to  catch  a  rogue ! '" 

"  But  I  teU  you  he  is  as  sharp  as  a  bri- 
ar!" 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  is— the  thing  is 
feasible!  I  told  you  several  days  ^go, 
when  you  came  to  my  office,  that  I  could 
get  the  divorce.  I  can  do  it,  if  you  want 
it.  And  be  sure  of  one  thing,  you  may 
trust  me  to  baffle  such  a  dainty  fellow  as 
he ! " 

"  Well  then  what  do  you  propose  ? "  in- 
quired Adams,  with  an  air  of  blended  ap- 
prehension and  desire.  . 

"  Write  the  letter  to  her  ;  if  necessary, 
see  her  ;  get  her  out  of  the  Avay ;  and  keep 
her  anywhere  out  of  New  York  for  thirtv 
days." 

"  But  suppose  she  refuses  to  go  ;  suppose 
she  suspects  me  ;  suppose  she  has  consulted 
Vernon  ?  "   - 

"  Provide  for  these  contingencies  in  your 
letter.  Stay !  Give  me  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  a  pencil,  and  I  will  fix  the  document. 
I  know  how  to  manage  women  ;  and  if  you 
will  send  what  I  write,  she'll  never  doubt 
your  sincerity." 

Adams  rose,  opened  a  writing-desk,  mo- 
tioned to  Shyster  to  take  a  seat  at  it, 'and, 
lighting  a  cigar,  puffed  away  nervously  un- 
til the  epistle  was  finished. 

"  I  guess  that  will  do  !"  said  the  villain, 
as  he  handed  the  draft  of  the  letter  to  hi.s 
companion. 

Adams  read  it ;  and  then,  with  a  discon- 
certed start,  turned  and  exclaimed  : 

"What!  Bring  her  to  New  York   and 
have  an   interview  with  her !     I  thouo-ht  ' 
that  would  only  be  necessary  as  a  dernier 
resort  f    I  cannot  do  it." 

"Why  so?"  was  the  imperturbed  in- 
quiry. 

8 


'■'  Because  I  do  not  like  to  meet  her  ' " 
"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because,  I  have  treated  her  in  such  a 
manner  that  I  cannot  look  her  in  the  eye." 
j  "Poor,  tender  heart!  Damn  it,  man, 
can't  you  act  ?  Can't  you  profess  repent- 
ance ?  Didn't  you  delude  Vernon  at  first  ? 
Then  surely  you  can  dupe  a  woman  blind- 
ed by  her  love !  " 

"  But  what's  the  use  ?  Why  should  I  see 
her?" 

"For  two  reasons:  To  find  out  if  she 
has  consulted  Vernon,  and,  if  so,  the  re- 
sult ;  and  to  serve  the  summons  and  com- 
plaint, and  get  her  acknowledgment  of 
service." 

"  But,  granting  the  first  to  be  a  good  rea- 
son," rejoined  Adams,  "  how  am  I  to  ac- 
complish the  other  veiy  delicate  design  ?  " 

"I'll  fix  that !  Will  you  proceed  or 
retire  ?  " 

"  Proceed !  " 

"  Then  send  off  the  letter  to-night,  and 
come  to  my  office  early  to-morrow." 

The  business  of  the  evening  having  been 
finished,  Shyster  soon  took  his  leave." 

The  plotter  passed  Vernon  and  Silver- 
tongue  in  the  lobby ;  but  did  not  know  of 
the  counterplot. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  defendant  in  the  action  of  Paul  Ad- 
ams against  Dolores  Adams,  a  petition  for 
divorce  a  tinculo  matrimonii,  accepted  ser- 
vice of  summons  and  complaint ;  but  nei- 
ther answered   nor  demurred  within  the 
period  of  the  law's  limitation. 
^  Mr.  George  Shyster,  counsel  for  the  plain- 
tiff, asked  for  a  reference  of  the   alleged 
facts;    it   being  necessary   to   sustain   the 
specifications  of  the  complaint,  before  he 
could  move  for  judgment  by  default. 

Judge    C ,    of  the    Superior  Court, 

granted    the    order,    and    appointed    the 
referees. 

The  referees  appointed  a  meeting  and 
Mr.  Shyster,  backed  by  several  witnesses, 
was  punctually  present.  The  witnesses 
were  sworn  to  "  tell  the  truth,  the  whole 


lU 


DOLORES. 


truth,  and  notliing  but  tlic  truth,"  and,  as 
soon  as  they  were  questioned,  proceeded  to 
tell  the  false,  the  whole  false,  and  nothing 
but  the  false,  with  an  air  of  candor,  and 
justice,  and  sj-mpathy  for  the  defendant,  that 
completely  imposed  on  the  examiners. 

Shyster  had  paid  the  whole  batch  of 
them' liberally,  posted  them  carefully  ;  and 
was  serenely  confident  that  the  story  of 
each  would  flow  smoothly  out. 

He  introduced  John  DoUarlove  first. 
DoUarlove  testified  that  he  lived  in  the 
city  and  knew  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Adams  ; 
that  Colonel  Adams  was  a  native  of  Suffolk 
county,  but  had  resided  in  Brooklyn  until 
within  the  last  four  years,  since  which 
time  he  had  lived  in  New  York  ;  that  Mrs. 
Adams  was  a  native  of  Vermont,  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  Mr.  Vaughn  with  whom  he  was 
well  acquainted  ;  that  he  was  present  at 
their  marriage,  which  was  celebrated  in 
the  city  ;  that  Colonel  Adams  and  his  wife 
were  at  present  residents  of  the  State. 
His  testimony  was  rigidly  sifted  by  a  cross 
examination  by  one  of  the  referees,  and 
was    not    weakened.    (Price    of   witness: 

$50.) 

Washington    Sticktoit  was    next    intro- 
duced.    He  deposed  that  he  was  a  regularly 
licensed  minister  of  the  gospel,  a  resident 
of   New  Jersey,  and    that    he    knew    the 
plaintiff   and    defendant;    that    while    in 
charge  of  a  congregation  in  New  York,  in 
1858,  he  married  them  in  the  Church  of 
which  he  was  the  pastor  ;  that,  since  then, 
Mrs.  Adams  had  separated  from  her  hus- 
band, "and  that  he  had  heard  frequent  scan- 
dals concerning  her  ;  that  her  reputation  in 
society  was  very  bad ;  that  he  had  seen  a 
Mr.  Johnson  (Johnson  was  a  man  of  straw, 
of  course)  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  defendant 
in  a  room  of  a  house  on  Gates  avenue  in 
Brooklyn,  about  three  months  before  ;  that 
he  had" seen  her  lock  the  door  and  pull  too 
the  blinds ;  and  that  no  other  person  was  in 
the  room  at  the  time.     Cross  examination 
elicited   that   this   observation   was   made 
from  a  second  story  window  immediately 
opposite.     (Price  of  witness  :  $100.) 

Four  other  witnesses  gave  evidence  of 
such  explicit  and  detailed  minuteness  and 


such  revolting  nature  as  to  leave  no  room 
for  doubt  of  the  entire  guilt  of  Dolores. 

Shyster  announced  that  he  had  no  fur- 
ther proof,  when  Mr.  Chargemhigh,  one  of 
the  referees,  who  was  a  friend  of  the  plain- 
tiff's counsel,  remarked  with  a  winning 
smile  to  his  fellows  that  he  thought  the  al- 
legations of  the  complaint  Avere  fully  estab- 
lished, and  suggested  that  an  immediate 
report  of  the  facts  should  be  made. 

This  was  done.  The  decree  of  the  Court 
was  delivered,  divorcing  Paul  Adams  from 
his  wife    Dolores  Adams  ;    enjoining   her 


against  marrying  again  ;  and  giving  him- 
the  custody  of  the  children. 

Dolores  was  in  Springfield,  Massachu- 
setts, where  she  was  waiting  with  a  heart 
made  sick  by  deferred  hope  for  the  prom- 
ised coming  of  her  husband— waiting  in  the 
full  expectation  of  a  reconciliation,  when 
she  received  a  brief  note  from  Shyster,  en- 
closing a  transcript  of  the  judgment  which 
took  away  her  reputation. 

Until  that  moment,  she  did  not  even 
know  that  a  suit  for  divorce  from  her  had 
been  brought  by  Paul  Adams.  Until  that 
moment,  she  had  looked  forward  to  a  new 
aud  happier  career  as  his  wife.  Oh,  the  con- 
sternation, the  agony,  the  wild  insanity  of 
that  moment !  Oh,  excruciating  moment ! 
Its  horrible  disclosure  made  her  mad ! 

Her  husband  divorced  ;  her  honor  lost  ; 
her  character  blasted  forever  ;  her  children 
seized  and  carried  away.  Without  a  friend 
in  hundreds  of  miles  ;  without  money,  and 
her  situation  probably  lost ;  without  aim  or 
hope  in  the  future,  aud  in  the  midst  of  un- 
pitying  strangers.  Most  crushing  calam- 
ity ! 

No  wonder  that  Dolores  cast  herself  upon 
the  floor  in  a  phrensy  of  grief,  and  lay 
there  moaning,  and  wailing  out  her  curses 
against  God,  and  begging  that  He  would 
punish  her  with  Death ! 

INIeanwhile,  Paul  Adams,  when  he  was 
informed  of  his  success,  armed  with  the 
proper  authority,  proceeded  to  Eochester, 
got  his  sons,  and  hurried  back  to  North 
Carolina  to  carry  out  a  project  wliich  had 
long  been  maturing  in  his  mind. 


DOLORES. 


115 


CHAPTER  X. 

All  day  long  Dolores  kept  her  room. 
She  refused  lior  meals,  for  her  heart  was 
too  full  of  misery  to  think  of  the  common 
wants  of  the  body ;  and  so,  alone  in  her 
wretchedness,  she  contemplated  the  extent 
of  her  affliction. 

Hours  of  weeping,  hours  of  piteous  prayer 
for  God's  mercy,  hours  of  indignant  denun- 
ciation of  the  Omnipotence  which  permit- 
ted the  foul  wi'ongs  she  had  received,  hours 
of  dismay,  suffering,  and  lamentation,  such 
as  few  women  ever  spent  before,  as  few 
women  will  ever  spend  again,  passed  be- 
tween the  reception  of  the  cruel  letter  which 
wrought  her  desolation  and  the  sombre 
twilight. 

When  night  began  to  close  in  upon  the 
earth,  the  darkness  of  despair  commenced 
battling  with  and  driving  out  the  few  re- 
maining hopes  to  which  she  clung  in  the 
depth  of  her  sorrow.  Reason,  already  un- 
settled, was  well  nigh  dethroned. 

But  when  the  blackest  hour  of  the  night 
has  come,  the  day-star  begins  to  ascend  and 
soon  glimmers  on  the  horizon's  edge.  An- 
other such  hour  of  distress  unrelieved, 
would  have  been  fatal  to  Dolores  ;  but  ere 
its  sands  had  run  out,  a  manly  step  echoed 
through  the  passage  outside  her  door,  and 
a  brave,  cheering  voice  cried,  "  Dolores ! 
Dolores!  Admit  me  —  admit  a  friend!" 
That  voice,  every  tone  of  which  was  famil- 
iar to  her  ear,  restored  intelligence,  reason, 
hope. 

Dolores  sprang  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  fell  fainting  upon  Roland  Vernon's 
shoulders.  Roland  caught  her  up  in  his 
strong  arms,  and  carried  her  to  the  sofa, 
and  laid  her  upon  it  with  a  ^yoman's  gen- 
tleness. Then  he  walked  to  the  bell-rope, 
fearfully  excited,  and  jerked  it  furiously, 
summoning  a  servant. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  room  ;  but  he 
managed  to  grope  his  way  into  the  passage, 
where  a  gas  jet  was  burning;  and  there 
lighted  a  taper  with  which  he  returned. 
Having  made  a  light,  he  awkwardly  endea- 
vored to  restore  Dolores  to  consciousness. 

Dolores   was  long  in  recovering;   and 
when  the  servant  came,  Roland  was  glad  to 


retire.  Several  restoratives  having  been 
applied,  however,  at  length  signs  of  a  res- 
toration began  to  discover  themselves ;  and 
very  soon  the  unfortunate  lady  was  suf- 
ficiently conscious  to  inquire  for  her 
friend. 

At  her  request,  Roland  was  called  back ; 
whereupon  he  drew  a  seat  up  to  the  sofa, 
and  took  her  hand  in  his  and  attempted  to 
offer  comfort. 

It  was  rather  an  unusual  situation  for 
Vernon.  Among  his  many  accomplish- 
ments, he,  unfortunately,  did  not  reckon  a 
familiarity  with  hysteria.  So  he  was  a  lit- 
tle non-plussed  at  first.  Still  he  contrived 
to  perform  this  novel  office  with  more  than 
ordinary  grace  and  ease. 

"  Do  you  feel  stronger,  Dolores  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

"Yes,  thank  you!"  answered  Dolores, 
striving  to  evince  her  appreciation  of  his 
kindness.  "I  am  much  better;  and  will 
get  up  now,  please." 

"  No,  don't !  I  think  you  had  best  keep 
still.  I  will  sit  here  by  you,  and  we  will 
talk  of  your  troubles." 

Dolores  feebly  insisted ;  but  Roland  gently 
dissuaded  her  from  her  purpose,  and  sue. 
ceeded  in  keeping  her  quiet. 

Roland  had  been  astonished  to  find  his 
friend  in  Springfield,  and  was  curious  to 
know  why  she  was  there. 

"  Tell  me  how  you  happen  to  be  here,' 
Dolores  ?  "  said  Vernon,  in  a  subdued  sym- 
pathetic tone;  "but  for  an  accident,  1 
should  never  have  found  you." 

"  I  came  here  in  obedience  to  my  hus 

Mr.  Adams'  wishes.  I  expected  him  to  join 
me,  imtil  this  morning,  when  I  received  in- 
formation  of  his his  base  deception 

You  know  everything,  I  suppose  ?  " 
.  "  Yes  !  It  was  on  that  account  I  came. 
I  saw  the  announcement  of  the  divorce  in 
the  Times  law  reports,  and  accidentally  no- 
ticed, in  the  BepubUcan's  hotel  arrivals, 
your  name.  That  was  in  Rochester,  where 
I  went  for  you  first.  I  should  never  have 
looked  for  you  in  Springfield." 

"  And  I  should  never  have  come  here, 
but  for  him  !  " 

"  But,  tell  me  !  How  did  you  see  him  ? 
Why?  What  inducement  did  he  hold 
out?" 


116 


DOLORES. 


"  It's  a  long  story,"  she  said,  and,  taking 
a  couple  of  letters  from  her  pocket,  and 
handing  them  to  him,  she  added—"  Read 
these— they  will  tell  you  part,  I  will  tell 
you  the  rest." 

Roland  took  the  letters  and  read  them 
rapidly.     The  first  ran  thus : 

St.  Nicholas  Hotel,     ) 
N.  y.,  Jan.  26, 18G7. ) 

My  Dear  Wife  : 

Through  my  friend,  Mr.  Silvertongue, 
who  informs  me  that  he  made  your  ac- 
quaintanceship in  Rochester,  I  learn  of  your 
whereabouts.  If,  as  I  sincerely  hope,  you 
still  love  me,  I  beseech  you  to  come  to  me 
immediately.  I  am  stopping  at  the  St. 
Nicholas  Hotel,  and  will  have  an  apartment 
prepared  for  you.  But  for  urgent  business, 
requiring  my  presence  here,  I  would  hasten 
to  you,  to  beg  you  to  forget  the  past  as  I 
have  forgiven  it.  Leave  the  children,  we 
will  return  f<jr  them  together.     Enclosed, 

find  sixty  dollars. 

Yours  devotedly, 

P.  A. 
Mrs.  Dolores  Adams. 

The  other  was  as  follows : 

St.  Nicholas  Hotel.     ) 
N.  Y.,  Feb.  4, 1867.  J 

Dear  Wife  : 

I  cannot  get  off  to  see  you  again  before 
you  leave  for  Springfield.  "^Vait  there  for 
me  until  I  come— I  will  be  with  3'ou  in  two 
or  three  days.  If  I  am  delayed,  as  is  possi- 
ble, I  will  write  to  you.  Enclosed  find  one 
hundred  dollars  for  your  expenses.  Please 
acknowledge  receipt  on  the  wrapper,  as  I 
have  not  great  confidence  in  the  servant's 

honesty. 

Yours  tenderly, 

P.  A. 
Mrs.  Dolores  Adams, 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 

"  When  I  received  the  first  letter,"  said 
Dolores,  as  soon  as  Vernon  returned  .the 
second  to  the  envelope,  "  I  hastened  joy- 
fully to  respond  in  person.  Paul  met  me 
with  great  cordiality,  but  not  as  a  wife. 
He  spoke  of  the  pain  my  flight  had  oc- 
casioned him;   said   that   he   greatly   de- 


sired a  reconciliation,  but  that  he  wanted 
some  explanations  before  it  could  be  con- 
summated. He  advised  me  to  think  about 
the  matter  calmly,  and  that  I  might  not  be 
too  much  disturbed  by  him,  sent  me  to  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  promising  to  call  every 
day.  He  did  so  :  and,  under  the  pretense 
of  giving  me  full  time  to  consider  whether 
I  could  contentedly  return  to  my  position 
as  his  wife,  suggested  my  visit  to  Spring- 
field, where  he  promised  to  come  in  a  few 
days,  to  get  my  final  answer.  I  told  him  I 
had  no  need  for  reflection,  but  he  insisted, 
and  I  consented.  He  visited  me  every  day, 
for  several  days,  at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
the  time  for  my  departure  was  fixed.  The 
day  before  I  left,  he  called  and  promised  to 
see  me  off;  but  instead  of  coming,  he  sent 
the  second  letter." 

"  How  did  you  acknowledge  it  1 " 

"  By  doing  as  he  requested — writing  on 
the  wrapper.  The  servant  suggested  that 
I  should  say,  '  Service  of  within  is  hereby 
acknowledged,'  which  I  wrote  and  signed. 
He  said  that  was  the  customary  form." 

"  Great  God !  What  sort  of  wrapper  was 
the  note  contained  in  1 " 

"  It  was  in  an  envelope,  but  the  envelope 
was  wrapped  in  a  large  sheet  of  -white  pa- 
per, with  writing  inside." 

"Did  the  wrapper  seem  to  be  a  whole 
sheet,  or  an  half?" 

"  My  gracious  !  What  difference  does  that 
make?  "  exclaimed  Dolores,  raising  herself 
on  her  arm,  and  looking  fixedly  at  Vernon. 
"  I  should  think  it  was  a  whole  sheet !  " 

"  The  Summons  akd  Complaint,  as 
sure  as  I  live!"  cried  Vernon.  "Why, 
Dolores,  you  let  them   dupe  you— assisted 

them ! " 

"  How  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  By  endorsing  that  wrapper,  '  Service  of 
within  is  hereby  acknowledged,'  you  made 
testimony  against  yourself;  and  enabled 
them  to  have  the  case  referred  for  exami- 
nation of  facts.  Perjurors  appeared  and 
swore  away  your  honor— easily  done,  as  you 
did  not  appear  to  defend.  But  tell  me  the 
rest- Did  he  write  you  while  here  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  received  several  letters— each 
offering  excuse,  and  appointing  a  future 
time  to  meet  me  ;  and  each  begging  me  to 

stay  here." 

"That  is  enough!    Rest  content!    Ill 


DOLORES. 


117 


have  your  children  back,  and  another  sort 
of  divorce  in  a  very  short  while." 

"  Oh,  get  me  my  children  !  Get  me  my 
children,'  protect  me  in  keeping  them ;  pro- 
tect us  from  him,  and  I  ask  nothing  else. 
Do  this,  Roland,  and  I  will  be  your  slave 
forever ! " 

She  pressed  his  hand  Avith  warm  grati- 
tude, as  she  said  this  ;  and  then  sobbed  like 
a  distressed  child. 

Vernon  leant  over  and  kissed  her  affec- 
tionately— kissed  her  with  a  brotherly  fond- 
ness— and  responded  in  a  tone  of  deepest 
sympathy : 

"I  will,  Dolores  —  I  will!  Poor,  poor 
girl !  To  think  that  you  have  been  so 
outraged  by  that  scoundrel." 

Saying  this,  Vernon  took  the  letters,  the 
two  she  had  shown  him,  and  the  others 
urging  her  to  wait,  and  rose  to  go. 

"  Sleep  now,  Dolores.  I  will  come  for  you 
in  the  morning,  and  we  will  go  to  Roches- 
ter, where  I  will  collect  such  evidence  as  I 
can ;  and  then  I  will  hurry  back  to  New 
York,  and  have  the  judgment  set  aside. 
It  was  obtained  by  fraud,  and  it  shall  be 
made  void ;  or  I'll  make  the  press  ring 
with  your  wrongs  !  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Silverto:jtgue  and  Vernon  collected  the 
evidence  necessary  to  prove  the  fraudulency 
of  the  proceedings  by  which  Paul  Adams 
secured  his  divorce,  and  went  before  the 
Judge  who  had  issued  the  decree  with  a 
motion  to  open  the  default. 

They  had  little  trouble  in  presenting 
such  a  strong  array  of  facts  as  to  compel 
the  immediate  annulment  of  the  divorce, 
and  the  issuance  of  an  order  for  the  resto- 
ration of  Dolores'  children. 

When  Shyster  was  informed  of  the  insti- 
tution of  this  proceeding  he  kept  close,  in 
great  trepidation,  lest  his  rascality  might  be 
punished,  but  wrote  and  recalled  Adams, 
telling  him  that  a  new  development  de- 
manded liis  return  to  New  York,  but  giv- 
ing no  particulars.  Adams  iustautly  obeyed 
this  call,  and  brought  the  children  with 


him,  having  no  one  to  leave  them  with  in 

C town.    This  was  fortunate  for  Dolores, 

for  within  six  hours  after  Paul's  arrival  in 
the  city,  they  were  seized  by  an  officer 
and  placed  in  the  custody  of  the  joyful 
mother. 

Adams  was  struck  with  consternation  at 
the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  and  in  his  tu- 
mult of  fear  he  sought  Shyster,  with  whom 
he  hastened  to  Canada. 

The  fact  that  Adams  was  on  the  point  of 
marrying  again,  with  the  purpose  of  fur- 
thering certain  ambitious  aims,  occasioned 
him  unTjouuded  disappointment  at  the  sud- 
den overthrow  of  his  deeply-schemed  fabric 
of  villainy  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  caused 
him  to  resolve  not  to  stop,  until  he  suc- 
ceeded, or  utterly  ruined  himself  in  the  at- 
tempt. He  cursed  himself,  he  cursed  Ver- 
non, ciu'sed  Silvertongue,  cursed  his  own 
unpardonable  weakness  in  proposing  to 
purchase  the  connivance  of  honest  lawyers 
in  his  nefarious  scheme — cursed  all  with  a 
vim  that  would  have  shocked  his  fellow 

elders  of   the    C town    church.     But, 

when  the  first  paroxysm  of  rage  was  over, 
he  set  to  work  with  untiring  energy  and 
restless  perseverence — characteristics  in- 
herited from  his  Puritan  ancestry,  and  the 
only  really  estimable  trait  they  had  trans- 
mitted— to  achieve  the  accomplishment  of 
the  designs  which  had  already  cost  him  so 
heavily. 

He  paused,  but  only  to  consider  the 
means.  Then,  unable  to  settle  upon  any 
policy,  he  again  had  recourse  to  Shyster's 
inexhaustable  fertility  and  ingenuity  of  ex- 
pedients. He  quickly  suggested  a  plot, 
and  offered  to  provide  the  ways  and  means 
— for  a  small  compensation. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  this  friend,  remembering 
the  unusual  amount  of  his  former  fee,  and 
rubbing  his  hands  in  a  glee  of  delight  at 
the  prospect  of  another.  "  Ah,  if  you  are 
bent  upon  having  a  divorce,  and  do  not  care 
about  the  children,  I  can  readily  manage  it 
for  you  !  And  there  will  be  no  after-claps 
either ! " 

"  How  ?  Name  the  price  1 "  was  Adams' 
reply. 

"Well,  as  to  price,  we'll  talk  of  that 
hereafter,"  answered  the  Attorney.  "  But 
I  can  get  you  a  Connecticut  divorce  without 
any  trouble." 


118 


DOLORES. 


"  But  it  strikes  mc,  if  my  recollection  is 
not  at  fault,  tliat  a  Connecticut  divorce,  un- 
less the  defendant  appears  and  makes  a 
fight,  is  not  lieeded  in  any  respect  by  the 
Courts  of  other  States,  because  there,  a 
judgment  by  default  cannot  be  opened," 
observed  Adams,  with  an  air  of  dissatisfac- 
tion. 

"  Very  true  ;  and,  if  you  were  to  marry 
in  another  State  on  such  a  divorce  as  I  pro- 
pose to  obtain,  I  do  not  think  it  would 
shield  you  from  the  penalty  for  bigamy. 
But  in  every  other  respect  it  would  be 
good  ! " 

"  What  in  the  devil  do  you  think  I  want 
a  divorce  for,  except  to  get  married  again  V 
asked  Adams  with  a  provoked  and  con- 
temptuous look. 

"  And  how  was  I  to  know  ?  Tou  never 
gave  such  a  reason  for  your  action,"  re- 
sponded Shyster  with  considerable  warmth, 
adding — "  I  see  no  way  to  arrange  the  mat- 


ter for  you  in  that  view  of  the  case. 
None ! " 

"  Stop !  Suppose  I  should  get  a  Con- 
necticut divorce,  and  then  go  to  Connecti- 
cut and  marry — how  would  that  work  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Then  you  want  to  marry  a  Con- 
necticut lady  !  If  you  marry  in  Connecti- 
cut, a  Connecticut  divorce  will  be  perfectly 
good,  of  course ! " 

"  Then  get  it  for  me !  " 

"  Then  give  me  five  hundred  dollars  for 
expenses — five  hundred  more  as  a  fee." 

Adams  was  a  little  astonished  at  the  de- 
mand, considering  the  fact  that  he  had  paid 
a  like  sum  for  one  already,  which  had  been 
upset ;  but  he,  at  length,  accepted  Shyster's 
proposition. 

Shyster  commenced  work  at  once ;  and 
this  time  under  more  favorable  auspices,  as 
Vernon  and  Silvertongue  were  not  aware 
of  the  design,  and,  consequently,  were  not 
on  the  watch. 


BOOK    V. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Below  the  confluence  of  the  Yadkin  and 
Uharie  in  the  Western  part  of  the  county 
of  Montgomery,  North  Carolina,  there  is  a 
large  tract  of  land,  of  well  wooded  forests 
and  fertile  fields,  stretching  North  and 
South  for  a  mile  or  more  along  the  river 
shore,  and  spreading  out  to  the  width  of  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  towards  the  East. 

On  a  bluff,  about  the  centre  of  this  plan- 
tation, and  frowning  down  upon  the  river, 
stands  a  large  two  story  brick  house,  from 
the  back  gallery  of  which  the  eye  takes  in 
a  pleasing  view  of  growing  crops,  out- 
houses, barns,  cotton-gins,  stables,  indeed 
all  the  buildings  necessary  to  extensive 
farming,  together  with  a  clump  of  negro 
cabins,  now  mostly  untenanted. 

There  is  an  air  of  comfort  and  elegance 
surrounding  the  premises,  which,  taken  in 
connection  with  other  circumstances  im- 
posingly apparent,  assures  the  beholder 
that  the  owner  of  this  domain  has  been 
blessed  with  great  wealth. 

This  was  formerly  the  plantation  of  Da- 
vid Trenton,  Esq.,  one  of  the  thriftiest 
planters  of  the  Pcdee  section  ;  and  from  its 
rich  soil  he  produced,  during  his  life,  large 
quantities  of  grain,  cotton,  and  other  agri- 
cultural staples — such  quantities  as  en- 
riched him  year  after  year,  until  he  had  few 
peers  in  wealth  in  the  old  North  State. 

During  the  war  of  '61-'65,  Mr.  Trenton 
accumulated  several  hundred  bales  of  cot- 
ton, which  he  refused  to  sell  for  Confeder- 
ate money.  He  died  of  a  broken  heart  in 
18G5,  when  his  slaves  were  emancipated 
and  much  of  his  property  was  destroyed  by 


the  results  of  the  war,  and  this  cotton  was 
sold  by  his  executors  at  about  thirty  cents 
a  pound,  the  proceeds  falling  to  his  only 
daughter,  Miss  Susan  Trenton. 

Miss  Susan  was  neither  pretty,  nor  intel- 
ligent ;  in  fact,  she  was  both  homely  and 
weak.     Her    greatest    personal    attraction 
was    a  well    rounded  form;  her    greatest^ 
weakness  an  intense  desire  to  get  married. 

Miss  Susan's  hand  was  sought  by  many 
suitors,  who  wanted  her  money  more  than 
they  wanted  herself;  but  fortunately  she 
had  good  advisers,  and  inherited  a  great 
fondness  for  money,  so  she  escaped  the 
snares  of  many  profligate  adventurers  who 
were  bent  on  entrapping  her  and  her  for- 
tune. 

Miss  Susan  spent  the  winter  of  '6o-'66 
in  Wilmington,  where  she  was  the  guest 
of  a  distinguished  member  of  the  bar  of 
that  city.  While  at  his  house,  she  met  a 
lawyer  from  C town,  who  was  in  attend- 
ance on  one  of  the  New  Hanover  Courts ; 
and  was  so  charmed  with  the  agreeable 
manners  and  deferential  bearing  of  this 
person,  that  she  completely  lost  her  heart 
in  the  two  or  three  days  of  his  brief  stay 
under  the  roof  of  her  host. 

To  the  observant  eye  of  this  person  her 
emotion  was  so  apparent  from  her  behavior, 
that  he  took  advantage  of  her  inability  to 
conceal  her  delight  in  his  conversation,  and 
displayed  such  a  deep  interest  in  her  socie- 
ty as  to  make  her  the  more  fondly  cherish 
the  sentiment  which  he  had  awakened  ; 
and,  when  he  was  leaving,  she  invited 
him  to  visit  her  at  her  home  upon  her  re- 
turn, a  privilege  of  which  he  freely  availed 
himself   afterwards  —  so    freely   that    she 


120 


DOLORES. 


could  attribute  his  attentions  to  no  other 
feeling  than  a  reciprocation  of  the  tender- 
ness felt  for  him. 

The  result  was  a  natural  one — a  declara- 
tion and  an  acceptance.  Of  the  antece- 
dents of  her  lover,  Miss  Susan  knew  noth- 
ing whatever  ;  and  worse,  when  her  friends 
sought  to  counsel  her,  and  to  warn  her 
against  his  wiles,  they  having  ascertained 

his  status  in  C town,  and  learned  his 

history,  she  declined  point  blank  to  listen 
to  them,  and  bade  them  hold  their  tongues 
in  such  a  peremptory  manner  that  they  let 
her  take  her  own  course.  She  took  it  and 
kept  it. 

And  so  Miss  Susan's  aflEairs  stood  in  the 
early  part  of  June,  1867.  One  afternoon, 
about  this  time,  she  sat  on  her  front  piazza, 
overlooking  the  waters  of  the  Pedee,  and 
by  her  side  sat  the  person  to  whom  she  had 
plighted  her  love,  and  to  whom  she  ex- 
pected soon  to  be  married. 

The  day  for  the  celebration  of  the  nup- 
tials had  been  set  for  several  weeks  before  ; 
but,  only  a  week  previous  to  the  appointed 
time,  the  intended  husband  was  compelled 
by  unavoidable  circumstances,  as  he  in- 
formed her,  to  ask  for  a  postponement  of 
the  ceremony.  He  had  now  just  returned 
from  New  York,  and  was  sitting  by  the 
side  of  his  betrothed,  endeavoring  to  per- 
suade her  to  yield  her  desire  for  an  old 
fashioned  country  wedding  at  home,  and 
attempting  to  induce  her  to  accompany 
him  to  "  the  land  of  steady  habits,"  and 
have  the  hymeneal  knot  tied  by  a  Connecti- 
cut Priest  or  Slagistrate. 

The  person  by  Miss  Susan's  side  was 
Paul  Adams.  The  indefatigable  Shyster 
had  pocketed  his  five  hundred  for  ex- 
penses, and  his  five  hundred  as  fee  ;  and 
the  Connecticut  divorce  had  been  secured. 

Paul  Adams  was  a  wily  diplomatist ;  and 
he  was  exerting  all  his  jwwer  of  eloquence 
to  obtain  Miss  Susan's  consent  to  a  Con- 
necticut marriage. 

"The  arrangements  which  you  propose 
are  so  common-place,  so  unromantic,"  said 
he,  "  that,  while  I  will  defer  to  your  wishes, 
I  really  do  not  think  with  you  that  it  is 
the  best  that  can  be  made.  It  will  con- 
sume so  much  time,  for  it  will  take  you  a 
fortnight  to  get  everything  ready.  Now, 
my  idea  is,  that  it  would  be  better  for  you 


to  issue  invitations  to  your  friends  to  meet 
us  here,  say  a  month  hence,  to  congratulate 
us  on  our  marriage ;  and  that  you,  in  the 
meanwhile,  should  take  a  bridal  tour.  Say 
that  you  pack  your  trunk  to-morrow,  and 
start  with  me  the  day  after  to  Laurinburg, 
where  we  can  take  the  train  for  "Wilming- 
ton, and  from  there  go  to  New  York  in 
thirty-six  hours.  In  New  York  you  can 
spend  a  week  in  sight  seeing  and  shopping, 
and  then  go  over  to  some  pleasant  Connec- 
ticut village,  and  be  married.  Afterwards 
we  can  spend  some  time  in  travelling,  and 
still  be  back  here  for  the  reception  of 
guests." 

"  But  the  very  idea  of  my  going  away 
from  home  to  get  married !  That  would 
never  do ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Susan  with  a 
horrified  look.  "  It  would  be  better  to  get 
married  here,  and  then  go  upon  the  bridal 
tour." 

"  Oh,  no !  That  would  be  too  much  like 
other  people.  I  want  to  astonish  the  na- 
tives with  the  novelty.  Why  our  marriage 
would  be  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  age  in 
this  neighborhood.  Instead  of  dating  every- 
thing from  '  the  last  freshet '  the  people 
would  be  forever  talking  about  this  or  that 
having  happened  before  '  the  romantic 
wedding,'  or  such  and  such  a  thing  having 
occurred  after  '  Miss  Susan's  marriage  at 
the  North.'  I  am  a  strange  sort  of  person, 
Susan — may  be  a  little  too  sentimental — 
but  I  think  it  would  be  delightful,  and  my 
heart  is  set  on  it !  " 

Paul  got  oflT  the  last  sentence  with  tell- 
ing effect. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Paul,"  replied 
the  lady,  yielding  with  much  grace,  "it  is 
of  no  importance  to  me.  I  will  do  just  as 
you  say  ;  because,  you  know,  I  am  to  here- 
after be  governed  always  by  your  opinions. 
I  think,  however,  that  I  had  best  consult 
uncle  Thomas  before  I  decide.  I  will  send 
a  note,  and  ask  him  to  come  over  this  after- 
noon." 

And,  so  determining.  Miss  Susan  left 
Adams,  and  went  to  carry  out  her  inten- 
tion. 

" '  Now,  by  St.  Paul,  the  work  goes 
bravely  on ! '  "  cried  Adams  as  soon  as  he 
was  left  alone.  "  If  I  can  keep  the  infer- 
nal uncle  quiet,  I  have  won  the  victory. 
'  I'll  have  her  ;   but   I'll   kot   keep 


DOLORES. 


121 


HER ! '    But  how  slaall  I  manage  the  old 
curmudgeon  ?  " 

About  twilight,  while  Adams  was  sitting 
on  the  piazza,  where  he  and  Miss  Susan 
had  been  together  all  daj',  Mr.  Thomas 
Trenton  rode  up  to  the  gate  and  dismount- 
ed. Perceiving  his  approach,  Paul  turned 
to  his  betrothed  and  whispered  to  her  to 
retire  and  leave  him  to  confer  with  her 
uncle. 

"I  know,"  he  added,  "that  he  dislikes 
me;  but  I  think  I  can  remove  his  preju- 
dices. I  will  bring  him  to  you  in  a  few 
minutes  to  announce  his  perfect  satisfac- 
tion at  our  plans." 

All  the  afternoon  Adams  had  been  schem- 
ing and  planning,  and  he  was  now  ready  for 
the  ordeal  through  which  he  was  to  pass. 
He  could  not  face  the  uncle  squarely  ;  so 
he  was  resolved  to  outwit  both  uncle  and 
niece.     And  he  did  completely ! 

When  Mr.  Trenton  mounted  the  steps 
Adams  met  him,  and  told  him  that  Miss 
Susan,  at  his  suggestion,  had  sent  for  him 
to  submit  some  business  matters  connected 
with  her  approaching  marriage  to  his  con- 
sideration, and  that  he  was  commissioned 
to  present  them.  Then  he  proceeded  to 
explain  that  he  proposed  to  enter  into  a 
marriage  contract  by  which  all  her  own 
property  and  a  handsome  jointure  from 
his  estate  would  be  settled  upon  Miss  Su- 
san, and  by  which  she  would  also  be  per- 
mitted to  devise  her  estate  at  her  death. 
Having  made  this  preliminary  statement 
he  next  submitted  the  carefully  drawn  in- 
struments containing  these  provisions  to 
the  inspection  of  the  clear-headed  old  man. 

"  You  know,"  casually  remarked  Adams, 
"  that  I  have  already  as  much  money  as  I 
want ;  and,  as  I  marry  from  love,  not  as  a 
mere  adventurer  would,  I  prefer  to  have 
things  arranged  in  this  way.  Do  you  ap- 
prove ? " 

The  old  gentleman  scrutinized  the  papers 
very  closely,  and  did  not  find  a  flaw  ;  and 
then  replied, 

"  Why,  yes ;  this  all  seems  proper 
enough.  I  must  say  I  see  nothing  to  dis- 
approve." Then,  wiping  his  spectacles,  and 
looking  intently  at  Adams,  whose  face  was 
flooded  with  light  from  the  parlor,  he  said 
in  a  low  voice — "But    where  is  tour 

OTHER  WIFE?" 


Adams  was  startled  by  the  question  ;  but 
recovered  from  the  surprise  in  a  second. 

"You  will  oblige  me,  Mr.  Trenton," 
said  he,  assuming  an  air  of  hauteur,  and 
speaking  as  if  his  sensibilities  were  greatly 
wounded,  "  by  not  sporting  with  my  dis- 
tresses. If  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  as 
to  marry  a  person  who  deserted  me,  and 
from  whom  I  was  forced  to  obtain  a  divorce, 
you  shall  not  taunt  me  with  impunity  be- 
cause of  that  calamity.  Please  never 
mention    that    subject    in    my    presence 


again !  " 


I  did 


"  Oh !   Then  you've  been  divorced ! 
not  know  it !  " 

Adams  was  silent,  and  pretended  to  be 
greatly  agitated. 

"My  niece  knows  nothing  of  this,  sir. 
She  would  never  hear  anything  from  her 
friends." 

"  She  had  no  need !  I  have  informed 
her  of  the  unhappy  consequences  of  my 
first  marriage  ; "  (a  lie  of  the  whole  cloth  !) 
"  and  she  did  not  care  to  have  others  as- 
perse me  to  her.  That  has  been  her  reason 
for  refusing  to  listen  !  " 

"  Well,  if  she  will  marry  you,  I  must  say 
I  approve  of  this  step !  " 

As  Mr.  Trenton  concluded  his  sentence 
with  the  words,  "  I  must  say  I  approve  of 
this  step,"  Miss  Susan  returned  to  the  pi- 
azza, and  overheard  his  expression. 

"  Oh,  then,  if  you  approve,"  she  cried, 
"  I  will  no  longer  demur !  " 

Adams  skillfully  changed  the  subject  of 
conversation,  and  so  gracefully  led  the 
Trentons  away  from  the  topic  which  he 
feared  to  have  dwelt  upon,  that  his  point 
was  carried  triumpliautly.  But,  before  Mr. 
Trenton  took  his  departure,  the  overseer 
was  called  in  at  Adams'  request,  and  the 
deeds  were  duly  signed  sealed  and  delivered, 
and  witnessed  by  him. 

Paul  was  not  withoitt  an  object  in  the 
seemingly  generous  execution  of  these  in- 
struments. He  knew  that  a  large  propor- 
tion of  Miss  Susan's  ready  money  had  been 
invested  in  mortgages  on  real  estate  in 
Baltimore,  and  that  these  mortgages  ran 
for  ten  years.  Consequently,  and  as  he 
feared  she  might  die  without  issue  before 
the  expiration  of  that  period,  and  as  his 
aspirations  were  to  be  something  more  than 
a  mere  tenant  by  courtesy  of    his  wife's 


122 


DOLORES. 


lands,  or  an  cnjoyer  of  the  interests  on  her 
investments,  he  preferred  to  give  her  the 
entire  control  of  her  eslate,  and  to  risk 
wheedling  her  into  making  him  her  heir 
at  her  demise.  Subsequent  developments 
assured  him  of  the  wisdom  of  his  choice. 

In  some  men  depravity  is  the  result  of 
circumstances ;  in  others,  it  is  innate,  in- 
herent. Adams  inherited  his  predisposi- 
tion to  crime  ;  but  then  he  assiduously  culti- 
vated the  native  bent  of  his  heart,  and  the 
times  in  which  he  lived  afforded  opportuni- 
ties for  the  display  of  his  fecund  diabolism. 

So  far  he  had  played  the  rascal  and 
won.  His  nest  step  was  to  be  a  graver  one 
— the  climax  of  his  villainy.  He  realized 
this,  and  wondered  what  were  to  be  its 
consequences. 

Aye!  what? 


CHAPTER  n. 

"  Come  with  me,  Vernon  ! "  said  Com-t- 
nay  about  the  middle  of  the  third  week  in 
June.  "  I  want  to  walk  —  I  have  been 
cooped  up  all  day." 

"  Which  way  do  you  go  ?  "  was  the  in- 
quiry of  Roland,  who  also  felt  the  need  of 
exercise. 

"  Up  Broadway  !  "We  may  meet  a  friend, 
possibly.  It's  about  time  for  the  pleasure- 
seekers  to  commence  flocking  Northwards." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  join  you." 

Vernon  could  not  walk  very  fast,  for  he 
had  never  entirely  recovered  from  the  ef- 
fects of  his  wound,  so  he  and  Courtnay 
sauntered  along  slowly,  criticising  what- 
ever happened  to  attract  their  notice  with 
all  the  freedom  that  yom-  true  Bohemian 
exercises  habitually. 

"  Do  you  see  that  woman  in  front  of  us, 
Vernon?  She  has  resolved  upon  commit- 
ting suicide,"  remarked  Courtnay,  directing 
his  companion's  attention  to  the  person  to 
whom  he  alluded. 

"  Indeed  !  Poor  thing,  what  distress 
drives  her  to  such  a  step  ?  "  responded  Ver- 
non in  a  tone  of  sympathy.  "  If  you  are 
acquainted  with  her,  we  will  join  her  ;  and, 


possibly,  we  will  be  able  to  remove  the 
cause  of  her  despondency." 

"  No,  no !  I'm  not  acquainted  with  her  ; 
nor  have  I  any  idea  of  her  reason  for  desir- 
ing to  make  her  clearance  from  this  suug 
port — I  would  like  to  anchor  here  forever  ! 
But,  without  doubt,  she  is  killing  herself 
by  degrees.  Look  at  her  form — very  ro- 
bust !  See  how  her  chest  swells  out — very 
fine !  But,  ye  Gods  !  mark  that  waist — I 
could  span  it  with  my  hands  !  That  woman 
is  bent  upon  self-murder  ;  she  has  chosen 
the  rack  of  fashion  for  the  accomplishment 
of  her  end.  Tight  lacing  is  killing  more 
women  than  the  cholera !  " 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  lady  turned  her 
head  so  that  the  friends  could  get  a  good 
view  of  her  face. 

"  She's  not  pretty  !  "  ejaculated  Court- 
nay. 

"  She's  dropped  her  handkerchief !  "  ex- 
claimed Vernon. 

"  Now's  a  time  for  the  display  of  your 
gallantry — restore  it  to  her !  " 

"  I'll  do  that  very  thing !  " 

And  Vernon  hastened  to  secure  the  fallen 
cambric,  and  soon  overtook  its  owner,  into 
whose  possession  he  surrendered  it  very 
gracefully. 

In  one  corner  of  the  handkerchief,  iu  the 
familiar  characters  of  Paul  Adams'  hand- 
writing, the  name,  Stjsak  Adams,  was  writ^ 
ten.  Vernon  scrutinized  her  features  but 
did  not  recognize  her  —  she  was  an  utter 
stranger. 

The  Bohemians,  after  this  adventure, 
halted  a  few  minutes  nearly  opposite  the 
Saint  Nicholas ;  and  the  lady  gained  on 
them  and  was  soon  lost  to  view. 

After  a  pause,  they  resumed  their  walk, 
and  upon  passing  the  Metropolitan  Hotel, 
Vernon  glanced  through  the  window  of  the 
first  floor  drawing-room  and  saw  in  one  of 
the  mirrors  at  the  back  of  the  apartment  the 
reflected  form  of  the  lady  of  the  lost  hand- 
kerchief, and  small  waist,  and  heard  a  voice 
very  strikingly  resembling  that  of  Paul  Ad- 
ams saying  to  some  one  within  ; 

"  How  lovely  you  are,  my  wife  !  What 
an  elegant  form !  WTiat  an  exquisitely 
small  waist !  " 

All  these  circumstances  set  Veraon  to 
thinking  ;  and  he  soon  concluded  that  Paul 


DOLORES. 


123 


Adams  was  in  the  city  ;  that  lie  was  again 
married  ;  that  the  lady  who  Courtnay  said 
was  determined  on  suicide  was  his  wife ; 
and — how  ridiculous! — that  the  husband 
by  flattering  the  wife's  vanity,  was  conniv- 
ing at  and  instigating  her  insensible  strides 
towards  death  by  tight  lacing.  ' 

By  the  time  Vernon  settled  all  this  to  his 
satisfaction,  the  drug  store  of  Hegemau  was 
reached  ;  and,  here,  Courtnay  caught  Ro- 
land's arm  and  said : 

"  I  have  a  friend  in  here — Doctor  Brown, 
who  is  clerking  it  for  a  li\ing.  He  is  a  Vir- 
ginian, and  a  clever  fellow.  Come  in  with 
me,  and  I'll  introduce  you." 

Vernon  complied  with  Courtnay's  wish. 
He  was  presented  to  Dr.  Brown,  who  was 
off  duty  at  that  hour. 

AVhile  the  three  Southerners  sat  together 
in  the  back  part  of  the  store,  there  were 
several  customers  in  front  of  the  counter 
keeping  the  clerks  on  duty  pretty  busy, 
and,  after  they  had  conversed  twenty  min- 
utes or  more,  several  other  purchasers  en- 
tered. Brown  excused  himself  a  moment, 
said  that  he  would  have  to  volunteer  for  a 
little  while,  and  went  forward  to  assist  in 
waiting  upon  the  wants  of  the  crowd. 

At  that  moment,  Vernon's  eye  was  at- 
tracted by  the  entrance  of  two  men,  one  a 
stranger,  the  other  an  acquaintance  from 
childhood. 

At  length  Brown  commenced  attending 
to  the  calls  of  this  pair ;  and,  after  pur- 
chasing several  articles  and  paying  for  them, 
the  personage  recognized  by  Vernon,  asked 
in  a  quiet  self-possessed  voice, 

"  Have  you  any  arsenic  ?  " 

"  Certainly !  White  ?  "  replied  the  drug- 
gist without  any  suspicion,  for  the  articles 
called  for  before  were  such  only  as  a  physi- 
cian would  buy,  and  he  supposed  he  was 
waiting  on  a  brother  of  the  Medical  Facul- 
ty.    "  How  much  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  two  ounces,"  was  the  dis- 
tinctly uttered  reply. 

"I  suppose  you  are  a  physician?"  asked 
Brown,  after  delivering  the  arsenic. 

"  Yes  ! "  was  the  unhesitating  response. 

With  that  the  customers  went  out ;  and 
Brown  returned  to  Courtnay  and  Vernon. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Roland,  as  soon  as  he 
took  his  seat,  "  please  remember  the  face 
of  the  man  who  bought  that  arsenic.    I'd 


stake  my  life  that  there's  murder  in  hia 
mind.     I  know  him !  " 

"  Are  you  certain  ?  " 

"  Yes.  His  name  is  Adams — Paul  Ad- 
ams!" 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  his  name.  He  wears  hia 
vest  unbuttoned  except  at  the  bottom,  and 
I  saw  the  name  on  his  shirt-bosom." 

"  Wiy  you  remember  his  face  and  this 
incident  ?  "  eagerly  asked  Vernon. 

"  I  will ;  yes — certainly,  I  will !  But,  my 
God  !  are  you  in  earnest  ?  Do  you  think 
he  intends ?" 

" Poisoning  somebody  ?    Yes  !    He 


lied  to  you  when  he  told  you  that  he  was  a 
physician.  He  is  a  lawyer ;  and  the  smart- 
est scoundrel  alive ! " 

"  Good  heavens  1  What  shall  I  do — shaU 
I  put  a  policeman  on  his  track  1  " 

"  No.  He  could  prove  a  good  character  ; 
and  it  would  do  no  good.  But  he  would 
prove  what  he  does  not  ftossess.  He  bought 
that  arsenic  to  murder  with — for  that,  and 
no  other,  purpose  ! ' 


CHAPTER    III. 

Fkom  Hegeman's,  Vernon  and  Courtnay 
returned  to  their  lodgings,  upon  reaching 
which  a  note  from  Dolores  was  handed  to 
Roland.  Reading  it,  he  found  that  she  was 
at  the  New  York  Hotel,  where  she  was  very 
desirous  of  seeing  him  immediately.  As  soon 
as  he  got  his  supper,  therefore,  he  retraced 
his  steps,  and  after  a  rapid  walk  entered 
the  hotel  parlor,  where  she  was  awaiting 
his  coming. 

Taking  a  seat  on  the  sofa,  by  her  side, 
Vernon  soon  possessed  himself  of  informa- 
tion as  to  the  cause  of  her  appearance  in 
New  York,  and  was  sympathising  with  her 
because  of  her  new  troubles. 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  that  you  would 
find  your  anticipations  to  be  unfounded. 
The  publicity  which  was  given  to  the  fact 
of  the  original  separation  from  your  hus- 
band by  the  steps  taken  to  have  the  decree 
of  divorce  reversed,  was  obliged  to  operate 
to  your  disadvantage.  Since  you  have  lost 
your  situation,  my  advice  is,  that  you  go 


124 


DOLORES. 


back  to  C town,  and  try  to  struggle 

along  there.  I  know  my  father  will  do 
everything  in  his  power  to  assist  you  ;  and 
I  pledge  you  my  aid  to  the  extent  of  my 
means — but,  you  know,  all  of  us  are  very 
poor  now !  " 

Dolores  expressed  her  gratitude  ;  but  re- 
plied : 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  know  1  But  if  you  were 
ever  so  rich,  I  could  not  allow  you  to  place 
me  under  any  further  obligations.     I  could 

not  go  to  C town  to  be  dependent  on 

anybody — especially  on  you,  to  whom  I  am 
already  so  deeply  indebted.  There's  much 
that  I  owe  you  which  I  do  not  know  how  I 
will  ever  repay — two  hundred  dollars  bor- 
rowed from  Alice,  the  money  you  lent  me 
on  leaving  Rochester,  the  expense  in  which 
my  law  proceedings  involved  you,  and  a 
great  deal  more." 

"  Never  mind  these  things,  Dolores.  I 
can  wait  until  you  are  fully  able.  Don't 
let  unimportant  matters  add  to  your  dis- 
tress." 

"  If  my  father  and  mother  were  alive," 
she  continued,  "  I  would  have  them  to  call 
upon,  and  could  refund — but  they  are  dead 
— father  died  during  the  war,  mother  since 

•we  left  the  South.     But but  I  am  very 

grateful  to  you  and  Alice,  and  if  I  live  I 
■will  pay  you  sometime." 

Saying  this,  Dolores'  self-control  gave 
way ;  and  she  burst  into  bitter  tears  and 
lamentations. 

"  Pshaw  !  Dolores  !  Dolores !  Are  those 
tears  to  be  my  recompense  ?  If  I  have  con- 
ferred any  favors,  surely  they  merit  a  bet- 
ter reward  than  mistrust  and  idle  weep- 
ing!" 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  miserable,  Roland !  I  do 
not  know  what  to  do.  I  could  teach,  if  I 
could  get  employment ;  but  my  children 
are  obstacles.  I  can  see  nothing  for  them 
and  myself  but  starvation  !  " 

Then  her  flashing  eye  shot  a  glance 
through  the  falling  tears,  and  fell  fully  and 
calmly  uix)n  Vernon's  face  ;  and  she  im- 
pulsively said : 

"  But  we  will  not  starve !  If  we  are  to 
die,  I  have  a  preference  as  to  the  manner 
of  the  death.  I  have  determined  upon  my 
course  when  the  last  hope  is  fled.  To  keep 
my  children  from  sufl'eriug  the  dreadful 
pangs  of  hunger,  and  to  avoid  the  same 


agony  myself,  I  will  terminate  their  exist- 
ence and  my  own  in  the  quickest  and  most 
painless  manner.  I  brought  them  into  the 
world,  and  I  will  carry  them  out.  Oh,  that 
they  had  never  been  born  !  " 

Roland  Vernon  was  not  a  Christian,  con- 
sequently the  bigoted  intolerance  that 
would  permit  no  pity  for  a  heart-broken 
woman's  woe,  after  such  a  declaration,  did 
not  restrain  his  sympathy.  He  was  not 
shocked.  He  did  not  tell  Dolores  that  she 
was  a  murderess  at  heart.  He  experienced 
no  loathing  for  this  wretched  creature  who 
acknowledged  herself  capable  of  what  the 
law  pronounces  a  crime.  But  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  his  heart  was  sore  with 
tender  compassion. 

"  I  hope,  Dolores,"  said  he,  "  that  you  will 
be  spared  such  a  cruel  necessity.  So  long 
as  I  can  earn  bread  for  myself  and  my  wife 
and  little  ones,  I  will  share  it  with  you." 

"  Roland  Vernon,  I  do  not  seek  your 
charity  —  I  cannot  live  forever  on  your 
bounty.  I  will  not !  But,  tell  me,  do  you 
think  I  would  be  wrong  to  act  as  I  have  re- 
solved to  do — say,  would  I  ?  " 

And  she  flashed  her  penetrating  eyes  up- 
on his  face  again. 

"  Very  wrong — if  there  were  any  possible 
way  to  avoid  it !  " 

"  Why  ?    Tell  me  frankly  !  " 

"  Go  to  your  Bible,  Dolores.  Don't  come 
to  me  for  religious  instruction." 

"No.  I  am  no  longer  a  Christian.  I 
want  your  opinion — I  know  what  the  Bible 
says." 

"  I  have  given  you  my  opinion !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  your  reason  1 " 

"  Well,  then,  because  it  would  be  cow- 
ardly ;  because  it  would  be  heartless ;  be- 
cause you  would  have  to  do  violence  to 
Nature's  promptings." 

"  Tell  me  whether  you  would  not  do  th.e 
same  thing  rather  than  starve." 

"  Dolores,  such  a  step  is  never  absolutely 
necessary." 

"  But,  putting  that  aside,  tell  me." 

"  Excuse  me !  My  code  of  morals  may 
do  for  my  own,  but  not  for  another's  gov- 
ernment." 

'■  Then  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would 
do  it ;  but  that  you  will  not  advise  mef  " 

"  The  deed  you  propose  is  the  worst  of 
crimes ! " 


DOLORES. 


125 


"Wliat  constitutes  crime?  When  tlie 
religion  that  you  reject  is  rejected  by  the 
world,  -what  will  be  the  standard  ? " 

"  That  is  not  a  pertinent  question — you 
do  not  reject  that  religion  !  "  said  Vernon. 

"  I  do,  utterly  1  "  replied  Dolores  sol- 
emnly. 

"  Then  Conscience  must  point  out  the 
Bight  and  Wrong  !  The  consciences  of 
Christian  people  are  regulated  by  tlie  pre- 
cepts of  their  religion ;  my  conscience  is 
controlled  by  the  desire  to  do  unto  the 
world  as  I  woidd  have  the  world  do  unto 
me.  Any  oflPence  against  Gospel  teaching 
is  crime  in  a  Christian  ;  any  offence 
against  the  Golden  Rule  wovild  be  crime  in 
me.     Conscience  is  the  standard  !  " 

"  My  conscience  would  forbid  me  to  let 
my  children  suffer  ;  and,  although  my  na- 
ture would  shrink  from  the  terrible  deed,  I 
think  I  would  have  the  strength  to  meet 
the  exigency." 

"  But,  unless  you  were  driven  by  an  ac- 
tual physical  necessity  to  the  commission 
of  such  a  desperate  act,  you  would  not  be 
so  cruel  to  your  children,  yourself,  and  your 
friends  ;  and  while  I  live  you  shall  never 
be  justified  by  such  an  excuse.  Be  more 
hopeful,  Dolores.     Come  ;  take  my  advice  ; 

go  back  to  C town  ;  do  your  duty  at 

whatever  cost  of  feeling  and  pride.  You 
owe  me  some  gratitude,  you  say ;  well 
then,  submit  yourself  to  my  commands. 
Will  you  do  it  ? " 

Vernon  struck  the  right  chord  ;  Dolores 
melted  from  the  stern  purpose  that  evi- 
dently possessed  her  mind,  and  she  gave 
her  hand  to  her  friend,  saying  : 

"  I  owe  you  everything  !  If  obedience 
can  in  any  degree  repay  your  generosity,  1 
will  obey ! " 

It  was  arranged  the  next  day  that  Dolo- 
res should  go  to  C town,  occupy  the 

cottage  in  which  Mrs.  Adams  and  Alice 
lived  dming  the  war,  which  was  still  in 
Mrs.  Adams'  possession ;  and  that  she 
should  endeavor  to  support  herself  until 
times  should  get  better,  she  agreeing  to  let 
Roland  assist  her  as  far  as  he  could,  and  to 
such  an  extent  as  her  real  needs  might  re- 
quire. 

With  this  purpose,  in  a  few  days,  Vernon 
having  managed  to  secure  the  means  to  de- 
fray her  expenses,  Dolores  left  New  York 


for  the  South,  with  a  braver  and  more 
cheerful  spirit. 

Vernon  had  been  careful  not  to  increase 
her  distress  by  communicating  his  suspi- 
cions in  regard  to  Paul's  new  marriage ; 
and  she  departed  in  utter  ignorance  of  the 
last  step  of  her  once  devotedly  loved  but 
depraved  husband. 

When  Dolores  reached  C town,  she 

was  received  by  Mrs.  Vernon,  Mrs.  Adams, 
and  Alice,  and  carried  to  Rushbrook  to  stay 
until  she  could  occupy  the  cottage,  into 
which  she  entered  about  a  fortnight  after 
her  arrival. 

The  gossips  of   C town   Avere  busy 

from  the  moment  of  her  return  in  circulat- 
ing slanders  against  her  character  ;  but,  as 
she  avoided  socic^ty,  and  as  the  Vernons 
were  her  warm  defenders,  she  suffered  no 
inconvenience  from  this  malignity. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Vernon,  since  his  settlement  in  New 
York,  as  the  reader  knows,  had  met  with 
very  considerable  success  as  a  writer  for 
the  press  ;  and,  although  he  had  no  prac- 
tice as  a  lawyer,  and  received  little  encour- 
agement to  continue  in  his  profession,  he 
would  have  got  along  smoothly  enough 
but  for  a  series  of  unexpected  events  that 
hindered  his  achievement  of  a  position  of 
independence.  It  cost  him  only  a  trifle  to 
live,  but  the  demands  on  his  purse  from  his 
family  in  the  South,  and  the  expenditure 
which  his  benefactions  to  Dolores  required, 
involved  him  in  embarrassments  and  ulti- 
mately plunged  him  into  debt. 

One  thing  and  another  forced  him  to  in- 
crease the  amount  of  this  indebtedness,  un- 
tO,  he  found  that  he  was  so  deeply  im- 
mersed that  his  earnings  were  inadequate 
to  the  regular  and  prompt  meeting  of  his 
responsibilities  and  engagements,  and  that 
they  must  be  augmented  or  he  would  soon 
founder. 

When  this  fact  was  realized  he  redoubled 
his  exertions  and  finished  off  an  increased 
number  of  articles  ;  and  this  led  him  to  two 
discoveries — first,  that  he   would  hav(;  to 


126 


DOLORES. 


abandon  his  law  studies  and  devote  bis  en- 
tire time  to  -writing  ;  and,  second,  that  he 
could  procure  no  regular  sale  for  his  arti- 
cles no  matter  how  brilliantly  and  ably 
they  -were  written — that  the  market  for  in- 
tellectual wares  was  glutted,  and  the  de- 
mand not  in  proportion  to  the  supply. 

Roland  had  been  away  from  home  over 
twelve  months  when  he  made  these  discov- 
eries, and  he  was  getting  very  anxious  to 
visit  his  wife  and  cliildren — a  desire  that 
he  would  be  compelled  to  forego  until  some 
marked  improvement  in  his  financial  condi- 
tion relieved  him  from  the  pressure  of  his 
obligations. 

While  pondering  upon  this  subject,  and 
endeavoring  to  strike  upon  some  scheme 
for  the  improvement  of  his  situation,  the 
thought  presented  itself  that  perhaps  he 
might  secure  permanent  and .  constant  em- 
ployment on  the  Herald,  to  the  columns  of 
which  he  had  been  a  regular  contributor 
since  his  first  articles  for  that  journal,  and 
he  determined  to  make  an  application. 

During  a  year's  acquaintance  with  Mr. 

P ,    the    manager,    that    gentleman's 

gruffness  and  reserve  had  thawed,  and  Ver- 
non was  now  on  tolerably  pleasant  terms 
with  him — sufficiently  so  to  feel  justified  in 
soliciting  his  influence  ;  and,  finding  him  at 
the  office  and  disengaged  one  morning 
when  he  dropped  in,  he  approached  him  on 
the  subject  aud  was  gratified  at  the  man- 
ner in  which  his  request  was  received. 

Mr.  P stated  that  he  had  no  authority 

to  make  such  engagements,  but  promised 
to  consult  Mr.  Bennett,  and  agreed  to  give 
him  encouragement  or  discouragement  if 
he  would  call  in  two  or  three  days. 

Presenting  himself  to  Mr.  P ,  at  the 

expiration  of  the  third  day,  Vernon  was  in- 
formed that  Mr.  Bennett  would  give  him 
an  interview,  and  an  answer  to  his  applica- 
tion ;  and  that,  in  all  probability,  a  favora- 
ble consideration  would  be  given  to  his 
proposals.  He  sent  in  his  card  to  the  pro- 
prietor ;  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  was  con- 
ducted into  his  presence  by  the  colored 
individual  of  the  pleasant  manner  and  i'l- 
jured  eye. 

"  Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Vernon !  "  greeted  the 

great  journalist.      "Mr.   P has  been 

speaking  to  me  in  your  behalf." 


Vernon  bowed  assent.  The  Scotchman 
proceeded : 

"  Have  you  ever  written  anything  for  the 
Herald  ? " 

"  I  have,  sir ! "  was  the  response.  "  Fre- 
quently, both  for  the  Herald  aud  Tele- 
gram." 

"  Ah !    Tou  are  a  practiced  writer,  Mr. 

P tells  me.     Let  me  see  some  of  your 

articles,  if  you  have  any  with  you." 

"  Unfortunately  I  have  only  a  few  with 
me,"  answered  Vernon,  drawing  out  a 
memorandum  book,  from  the  pocket  of 
wliich  he  took  several  printed  slips.  "  These 
are  inferior  to  some  of  my  contributions, 
and,  as  they  are  not  up  to  my  average 
standard,  I  should  dislike  to  be  judged  by 
them — they  are  trifles,  without  any  depth." 

Mr.  Bennett  took  the  slips — glanced  at 
several — then  his  eyes  twinkled,  and  he 
said  pleasantly : 

"  Ah  !  So  you  -wrote  this — '  The  Panic 
of  the  Doctors.'  A  very  readable  thing ; 
and  it  provoked  a  good  deal  of  comment !  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  wrote  it — but  considered  it 
a  mere  bagatelle." 

"  Yes — a  bagatelle  !  But  it  struck  my 
fancy — what  were  you  paid  for  it  ? " 

"  Four  dollars !  " 

"  And  how  much  for  these  ?  "  continued 
the  proprietor,  exhibiting  the  papers  on  the 
'situation'  at  the  South — Vernon's  first 
contributions. 

"  Eight  dollars  for  this — for  this  six — nine 
for  this — five  for  this — "' 

" — And  you  were  not  paid  enough  !  A 
very  interesting  aud  able  series  of  papers — 
much  superior  to  the  ordinary  correspond- 
ence !  "  exclaimed  the  interrogator. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  continued,  "  that 
you  could  work  up  news  from  Europe  into 
attractive  letters  1  Have  you  any  acquaint- 
ance with  European  politics  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir !  I  am  tolerably  well  posted, 
and  1  think  I  could  do  the  work  ;  but  I 
should  prefer  not  to — I  will  be  frank,  sir,  I 
do  not  approve  of  deception !  " 

'•■  Ah  !  You  have  a  conscience  then — a 
JeflTerson  Brick  with  a  conscience !  Ha ! 
ha!  ha!" 

Vernon  smiled  ;  but  was  silent. 

"Well— well!"  continued  Mr.  Bennett, 
"  I  tliink  we  can  employ  your  talents  profit- 


DOLORES. 


127 


qjoly  at  sometliing  else.    We  will  try  you  ; 
if  we  suit,  we  bargain  ;  if  not,  not." 

"  I  am  willing  to  undergo  probation  ! " 

"  Tell  me  this,  however— do  you  last 
well  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir!  I  have  a  certain  standard 
which  I  cannot  excel— never  do  excel ;  but 
I  can  keep  up  to  it  eternally.  I  can  write 
twenty  pages  of  foolscap  every  day,  the 
year  round.  I  never  erase  or  re-write— ray 
first  trial  is  my  best.  For  endurance,  I  ac- 
knowledge no  superior ! " 

"A  most  remarkable  talent — and,  for  an 
editor,  the  very  best !  "  rejoined  the  great 
revolutionist  of  journalism.  "  Are  you  so- 
ber, industrious,  steady  ? " 

"  I  am ! "  was  the  confident  reply. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Vernon,  you  may  report  to 

Mr.  P on   Monday   at   12  M.     He  will 

assign  your  duties  and  announce  terms. 
Then  if  you  are  satisfied,  you  can  commence 
your  trial  service." 

"  Thank  you,  sir !  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Bennett !" 

Saying  this  Vernon  turned  and  was  on 
the  point  of  leaving. 

"  Wait  a  moment ! "  called  out  old  Jupi- 
ter  Tonans.      "P did  not    pay  you 

enough  for  what  you  have  already  written 

lie  is  very  close  !     Please  hand  this  to  the 

cashier." 

Vernon  glanced  at  the  slip  of  paper. 
It  was  an  order  for  forty  dollars  for  extra 

work. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  accepting  gra- 
tuities, Mr.  Bennett!"  the  yomig  man 
said  with  great  dignity,  offering  to  return 
the  jiaper. 

"  You  misunderstand  me,  sir  !     Mr.  P 

is  an  employee  of  mine ;  and,  in  his  pay- 
ments for  manuscripts,  is  governed  by  cer- 
tain rules.  Sometimes,  by  following  those 
rules  he  pays  too  much  ;  at  other  times  he 
pays  too  little.  In  your  case  he  has  not 
paid  enough,  so  I  now  purpose  to  make  up 
the  deficit.  It  is  no  gratuity— it  is  money 
you  have  justly  earned.  I  have  a  right  to 
insist  that  you  shall  take  it,  for  we  profess 
to  pay  full  value  for  the  best  articles." 

Mr.  Bennett  rose  and  advanced  towards 
Vernon  with  the  check  in  his  hand,  lend- 
ing earnestness  to  his  words  by  his  manner ; 
and,  at  length,  he  succeeded  in  inducing 


"  the  high  spirited  Southerner  to  accept  the 
generous  act  of  justice. 


"  A  Bohemian  gentleman,  or  a  gentleman 
Bohemian!  Ila!  ha!"  laughed  the  Nes- 
tor of  American  Bohemianism  as  the  Caro 
linian  left  his  oflice. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Veknon  met  Courtnay,  on  Broadway, 
soon  after  leaving  the  Herald  office;  and 
immediately  communicated  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  favorable  result  of  his  con- 
ference with  Mr.  Bennett.  He  was  sur- 
prised, however,  to  find  that  Courtnay  did 
not  receive  this  information  with  that  de- 
gree of  interest  and  gratification  which  he 
had  anticipated,  and  the  indifference  of  his 
friend  annoyed  and  perplexed  him,  as  he 
could  conceive  no  motive  for  this  unusual 
indifference. 

Courtnay  had  recently  been  less  success- 
ful in  procm-ing  purchasers  for  his  articles, 
and  became  gradually  jealous  of  his  asso- 
ciate ;  and  when  he  heard  Vernon  express 
his  intention  of  seeking  this  situation, 
without  considering  the  dishonor  of  such  a 
course,  he  had  hastened  to  attempt  to  fore- 
stall him  by  making  a  prior  application. 
His  suit,  however,  had  met  with  an  unfa- 
vorable reception,  Mr.  Bennett  having  re- 
jected his  propositions  without  considenng 
them  a  moment :  and  hence  the  behavior 
which  so  puzzled  his  comrade. 

When  Vernon  went  to  his  lodgings  that 
night,  he  found  Courtnay  in  a  disgusting 
state  of  intoxication,  and  very  greatly  dis- 
posed to  quarrel,  as  he  always  was  while  in 
that  condition.  Entertaining  a  great  abhor- 
rence of  drunkenness,  and  yet  a  pity  and 
sjmpathy  for  its  unfortunate  victims,  Ver- 
non could  not  wholly  disguise  his  senti- 
ments, although  he  heW  his  tongue,  and 
gave  no  expression  to  his  feelings  of  repug- 
nance. This  policy  he  invariably  adopted 
on  similar  occasions. 

Courtnay  was  bent,  however,  upon  evok- 
ing some  utterance  of  disapproval  on  this 
occasion  ;  and  greeted  Vernon,  when  he  en- 


12S 


DOLORES 


tercd  tlio  room,  with  a  spiteful  look  and 
the  insulting  salutation  : 

"You  don't  like  my  getting  drunk,  do 
you?  Well,  I  don't  care  a  continental 
damn,  whether  you  do,  or  not !  " 

Vernon  preserved  a  dignified  reticence  ; 
but  Courtnay,  not  to  be  repressed  by  the 
chilling  disdain  of  the  curled  lip  that  made 
answer,  continued : 

"  I  have  noticed  recently  that  you  have 
established  a  sort  of  censorship  over  my 
morals,  and  that  you  seem  to  be  inclined  to 
undertake  my  reformation.  Now,  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  I  intend  to  get 
drunk  whenever  I  please." 

Vernon's  lip  curled  still  more,  and,  with- 
out offering  a  reply,  he  turned  on  his  heel. 
"  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?  "  This,  in 
a  very  provoking  tone.  "  Did  you  hear 
what  I  said  ?  If  you  don't  reply,  I'll  fell 
you  to  the  earth !  " 

"  Courtnay,"  said  Vernon,  assuming  an 
air  of  lofty  dignity  which  sat  upon  him  as 
gracefully  as  his  closely  fitting  coat,  "  j'ou 
had  better  not  provoke  me  to  violence.  You 
had  better  desist  from  your  insolence  !  " 

"  Then,  let  me  alone,"  said  Courtnay,  in 
a  petulant  tone,  moderating  under  the 
flash  of  Vernon's  eye  ;  "  and  don't  be  at- 
tempting to  brook  me  in  a  course  that  I 
have  resolved  upon.  If  I  choose  to  get 
drunk,  what  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  " 

"  ^\Tiether  you  keep  drunk,  or  stay  sober 
the  rest  of  your  life,  is  a  matter  of  supreme 
indifference  to  me.  If  yoii  were  Avithout 
intellect,  and  had  no  capacity  for  higher 
things,  I  would  pity  you.  But  when  a 
man  of  brains  becomes  a  sot,  I  would  see 
him  dead  before  I  would  turn  on  my  heel 
to  rescue  him.  As  it  is  I  feel  a  loathing 
scorn  for  you — nothing  else !  " 

"  But  you  shall  not  treat  me  with  scorn — 
I  will  not  submit  to  it ! " 

"  I  am  master  of  my  own  emotions,  and 
of  the  expression  of  my  emotions.  I  shall 
not  incommode  myself  to  hide  their  expres- 
sion from  you,  while  I  remain  an  occupant 
of  this  room.  But,  if  it  will  be  of  any  con- 
solation to  you,  I  will  inform  you  that  I 
will  leave  here  to-morrow  in  extreme  dis- 
gust." 

"If  you  dol  will  follow  you — I  will " 

"  You  wiU  do  no  such  thing !  " 

"  I  swear  I  wUl !    You  shall  not  escape 


me ! "  cried  Courtnay,  in  a  drunken  gleo. 
"If  you  can  be  contemptuous,  I  can  still  be 
an  annoyance." 

"  Go  to  bed,  you  infernal  ass  !  " 

"  I'll  follow  you  ;  I'll  annoy  you  ;  I'll " 

"  Take  off  your  clothes,  sir,  and  retire,'* 
commanded  Vernon,  seizing  Courtnay  by 
each  shoulder,  and  shaking  him  violently, 
giving  that  not  over  courageous  person  an 
acquaintance  with  the  temper  and  strength 
that  he  was  provoking  to  desperation.  "  Be 
silent  too !  I  think  another  word  would 
make  me  choke  you — do  you  he.ui  ? " 

The  nuisance  was  suddenly  abated. 
Courtnay  obeyed — his  companion's  elo- 
quence was  irrresistible ! 

When  perfect  quiet  reigned,  Vernon  took 
a  seat  by  the  little  table  at  which  he  had 
spent  so  many  weary  hours  of  midnight 


toil,    con'^ 


ertmg 


his    best    thoughts    into 


wares,  from  the  sale  of  which  he  supported 
existence.  At  length  Courtnay  snored ; 
and  then  Roland  drew  a  package  of  papers 
from  his  pocket,  and  commenced  mastering 
their  contents. 

"  An  eventful  day ! "  he  said,  after  a 
while.  "  An  interview  with  Mr.  Bennett, 
a  meeting  with  the  strangest  old  woman,  a 
row  with  Courtnay — I  must  jot  it  all  down 
in  my  journal." 

Saying  this,  he  took  up  another  sheet, 
and  read  it  through. 

"  She  questioned  me,"  he  proceeded, 
"  very  closely.  How  could  she  have  known 
me,  or  suspected  my  relationship?  Yet 
she  knew  father  and  grandfather  Leigh. 
Who  could  she  have  been  ?  Why  did  she 
wish  me  to  wait  until  midnight  before 
opening  this  package  ?  " 

After  these  musings,  Roland  spread  out 
the  rest  of  the  documents  and  carefully  pe- 
rused them  from  beginning  to  end.  When 
he  concluded,  his  face  wore  a  look  of  greater 
perplexity  even  than  when  he  commenced 
the  work  of  deciphering  the  scrawling 
characters  of  the  manuscripts. 

"  What !     Can  it  be  so  ?    Yes ;  it  must 

be but  how  can  1  prove  the  facts  she 

relates  ?  " 

Vernon  spoke  excitedly,  and  in  such  a 
tone  as  to  arouse  Courtnay  from  his  sleep. 
The  drunken  Bohemian,  as  soon  as  he  per- 
ceived Vernon  engaged  in  the  examination 
of  a  number  of  mysterious  looking  papers. 


DOLOEES. 


129 


covered  up  his  head,  leaving  room  to  peep 
through,  however,  and  then  watched  and 
listened. 

"  What  in  the  world  could  have  brought 

the  old   crone   to   New  York   from  C 

town  ?  But  never  mind  that !  Is  she 
deceiving  me  1  That  is  the  question !  If 
not.  then  I  can  yet  recover.  I  need  not  at- 
tempt to  trace  her  to  her  haunts — she  has 
been  keen  enough  to  give  me  no  clue.  I 
must  find  this  Jane  Blount — every  hope 
depends  on  her !  " 

Having  said  this,  Vernon  rose  quietly, 
put  the  package  in  his  coat's  breast  pocket, 
took  off  his  clothes,  and  got  into  bed,  tak- 
ing care  to  turn  his  back  towards  Court- 
nay,  and  to  get  as  far  from  him  as  possible, 
so  as  to  avoid  the  fumes  of  liquor  which 
he  exhaled. 

Courtnay  simulated  sleep,  and  waited 
until  Vernon  slumbered  peacefully.  Then 
he  bounced  from  the  bed,  searched  for  the 
'package,  in  Vernon's  pocket,  secured  it,  and 
hid  it  under  the  wardrobe. 

Then  he  returned  to  bed. 

Courtnay  was  malignantly  drunk ;  but, 
not  quite  drunk  enough  that  night.  A  few 
more  drinks  would  have  rendered  him 
harmless;  but,  unfortunately,  he  had  not 
taken  them. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  next  day  Vernon  carried  his  pur- 
pose of  changing  his  quarters  into  exe- 
cution. He  failed  at  first  to  discover  that 
the  papers  given  him  by  the  old  crone  had 
been  abstracted  from  his  pocket.  But  on 
the  third  morning  following  he  became 
aware  of  this,  and  then  he  returned  to  his 
old  boarding  house  with  the  expectation  of 
recovering  them.  He  suspected  Courtnay 
of  having  taken  them  ;  and,  when  he  found 
that  the  Bohemian  had  left  on  the  same 
day  with  himself,  he  gave  up  all  hope  of 
getting  possession  of  them  again. 

Meantime,  Vernon  reported  to  Mr. 
P on  Monday  morning,  and  was  as- 
signed to  duty  at  one  of  the  reportorial 
desks    of  the  Herald.    His  compensation 


was  fixed  at  a  liberal  sura  per  month  ;  and 
the  anxious  countenance  which  he  had  so 
long  worn  began  to  relax  its  rigidity  of  ex- 
pression, and  assumed  a  more  cheerful  and 
hopeful  aspect. 

Roland  was  quick  in  the  performance  of 
his  allotted  work,  and  his  industry,  exact- 
ness, and  reliability  gave  entire  satisfac- 
tion to  the  manager,  and  to  the  proprietor. 
So  much  so  was  this  the  case  that  in  about 
a  fortnight  after  he  commenced  his  en- 
gagement, Mr.  P declared  that  perse- 
verance in  his  industry  Avould  soon  achieve 
for  him  the  acme  of  journalistic  success. 

"With  gratified  ambition,  Vernon  wrote 
to  his  family  annoimcing  his  good  fortune, 
and  exulting  in  a  spirit  of  self  gratification 
bade  them  look  forward  with  certainty  to 
the  time  when  he  would  attain  wealth  and 
reputation  from  his  new  profession.  He 
forgot  that  fate  had  marked  him  out  for 
especial  spite ;  he  did  not  remember  that 
his  whole  life  had  been  a  series  of  crushing 
disappointments ;  he  overlooked  the  fact 
that  he  had  several  times  before  exulted 
in  a  budding  success  which  never  ripened. 

Fortune  had  made  a  frolic  of  his  hopes 
in  the  past !  Was  the  unpitying  Goddess 
about  to  rel.ent_?  Rather,  was  she  not  in- 
exorably resolved  to  blight  his  life  with 
unending  reverses  ? 

A  few  clays  subsequent  to  the  conversa- 
tion  with   Mr.  P ,  which  had  excited 

his  anticipations  and  occasioned  his  self- 
gratification,  Vernon  was  summoned  into 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Bennett.  Without 
dreaming  of  the  motive  of  this  conference 
to  which  he  was  invited,  the  young  editor 
hastened  to  attend  the  proprietor's  com- 
mands. 

"  Mr.  Vernon,"  said  the  old^  journalist, 
"  I  have  received  a  communication  respect- 
ing you  from  a  Mr.  Courtnay,  in  which  he 
makes  certain  allegations  that  tend  decided- 
ly to  your  discredit.  Mr.  Courtnay  gives 
several  excellent  references,  and  upon  in- 
quiry as  to  his  character,  I  find  that  he  is 
an  upright  and  veracious  person.  His  com- 
munications are  such  that  I  deem  it  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  say  to  you  that  your 
services  as  an  attache  of  the  Herald  will 
have  to  be  dispensed  with  immediately." 

"What  are  the  allegations — in  what 
particular  does  he  disparage  me?"    asked 


130 


DOLORES. 


Vernon,  calmly  keeping  down  his  indigna- 
tion at  the  villain's  calumny. 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  satisfy  your  curi- 
osity," replied  Mr.  Bennett. 

"  But,  sir,  I  demand  this  information.  1 
have  a  right  to  demand  it,  and  I  shall  in- 
sist upon  its  being  given  me." 

"  I  do  not  recognize  any  such  right ;  and, 
to  cut  discussion  short,  I  positively  decline 
to  accede  to  your  demand  !  "  He  paused 
and  then  proceeded  :  "  When  your  servi- 
ces were  engaged  they  were  not  contracted 
for  permanently — you  came  on  trial,  as 
you  wiU  remember.  Therefore,  strictly 
speaking,  j'ou  are  not  entitled  to  any  other 
compensation  than  for  the  actual  tenn  of 
service.  But  I  have  no  disposition  to  act 
ungenerously  towards  you,  and  have  de- 
termined to  offer  you  payment  for  three 
months  in  advance." 

"  And  I  would  see  you  damned  before  I 
would  accept  your  alms  ! "  responded  Ver- 
non, hotly,  as  he  turned  to  leave. 

"  Wait !  But  for  this  communication 
from  Courtnay,  the  engagement  with  you 
would  have  been  made  permanent.  Then 
a  dismissal  before  the  end  of  the  year  would 
have  entitled  you  to  a  year's  salary.  Con- 
sequently you  are  more  than  entitled  to  the 
sum  I  propose  to  pay  you,  and  I  insist  upon 
your  taking  it." 

"  No,  sir  !  You  must  excuse  me !  I  am 
slandered  by  an  infernal  villain  ;  you  heark- 
en to  his  calumny ;  you  refuse  to  acquaint 
me  with  its  purport.  Therefore,  I  esteem 
both  of  you  to  be  equally  base  ;  and  I  can- 
not receive  a  favor  at  your  hands,  whether 
a  mere  act  of  justice  or  a  simple  gratuity." 

"  But  what  good  would  it  have  done  for 
me  to  have  informed  you  of  the  tenor  of 
Courtnay's  communication  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  done  so,  I  would  have 
proved  him  to  be  a  liar.  Now,  I  have  lost 
my  regard  for  your  opinion,  good  or  bad, 
and  it  would  do  no  good.  I  would  not 
snap  my  finger  to  have  your  confidence." 

"  But,  suppose  it  were  a  charge  of  a  seri- 
ous character,  and  it  could  be  refuted  ?  "  re- 
joined Bennett. 

"  Bah  !  What  difference  does  that  make  ? 
I  am  conscious  of  the  rectitude  of  my  con- 
duct, and  the  world's  opinion  cannot  affect 
me  in  one  way  or  another.  Once  I  feared 
public  reproach  on  matters  of  honor ;  now 


that  I  know  the  world  better,  I  despise  the 
judgment  of  the  vulgar  mob  that  controls 
sentiment.     I  contemn  it  !  " 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  do  you  injustice, 
Mr.  Vernon  ;  and,  if  you  think  you  can  do 
so,  will  give  you  an  opportunity  to  clear 
this  matter  up.  In  the  meanwhile  you  may 
remain  at  your  desk." 

"  You  are  j  ust  a  little  too  late,  Mr.  Ben- 
nett. If  I  am  a  hireling,  if  I  do  have  to 
write  for  pay,  I  still  deem  myself  a  gentle- 
man, and  must  decline  a  further  associa- 
tion with  a  person  liable  to  be  affected  by 
the  insinuations  of  every  malignant  calum- 
niator who  may  entertain  feelings  of  enmity 
for  me.     Good  day,  sir !  " 

Vernon  retired ;  and  so  his  connection 
with  the  IIer^vld  was  short  lived. 

The  next  letter  which  he  sent  to  Rush- 
brook  cast  a  damper  over  the  blossoming 
hopes  of  its  inmates.  They  had  been 
promising  themselves  the  pleasure  of  soon 
meeting  the  absent  one,  and  seeing  him 
with  the  furrows  of  care  smoothed  from  his 
brow  and  the  shadows  of  disappointment 
and  distress  fled  from  his  face.  This  prom- 
ise was  now  to  be  unrealized. 

Vernon  again  resumed  his  labors  as  a 
roving  journalist,  and  dashed  off  article 
after  article  and  sold  them  at  various 
prices,  first  to  one  paper  and  then  to  an- 
other. But,  as  his  experience  had  previ- 
ously taught  him,  this  was  found  to  be  a 
precarious  mode  of  subsisting,  and  he  long- 
ed for  something  like  permanence  of  occu- 
pation. 

He  had  essayed  every  field  of  journalism 
but  one  since  he  had  located  in  New  York, 
and  found  each  unprofitable.  He  had  tried 
political  writing,  in  which  he  most  excelled, 
but  found  great  difiiculty  in  finding  pur- 
chasers for  his  articles  ;  he  had  tried  re- 
porting, with  no  better  success  ;  he  had 
tried  criticism,  and  it  was  no  more  remu- 
nerative, in  fact  he  had  tried  and  was  dis- 
appointed in  everything  but  romancing. 
He  was  combining  all  sorts  of  work,  but 
still  could  not  keep  up  with  his  engage- 
ments and  support  himself.  His  pen  was 
productive,  but  the  more  work  he  did,  the 
more  glutted  the  market  became  and  the 
more  labor  he  performed  for  the  same  pay. 

So  his  circumstances  grew  more  desper- 
ate.    At   length  a   friend,   who  expressed 


DOLORES. 


131 


Bome  interest  in  his  condition,  advised  him 
to  seek  the  counsel  and  assistance  of  a  dis- 
tinguished politician,  journalist,  and  phi- 
lanthropist, whose  name  is  familiar  in  the 
ears  of  the  American  People. 

Vernon  seized  the  happy  idea,  and  deter- 
mined to  act  upon  it.  He  made  his  way  to 
Park  Row,  turned  down  that  noisy  tho- 
roughfare, walked  to  and  crossed  Spruce 
street,  which  he  entered.  Reaching  a  door 
a  few  yards  from  the  corner,  he  mounted 
the  steps,  went  in,  climbed  a  dingy  stair- 
way, and,  at  length,  pulled  at  a  bell-knob 
which  protruded  from  the  facing  of  a  door 
on  the  glass  of  which  was  painted  the  fol- 
lowing sign : 


NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 
Editors'  Room:. 


The  bell  tinkled  ;  a  porter  attended  the 
summons  ;  and  then  came  the  inquiry  : 

"  Who  do  you  desire  to  see,  sir  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Horace  Greeley  !  " 

"  He  has  not  come  down  yet ;  and  I  can- 
not tell  you  whether  he  will  be  in  to-day  or 

not. Ah  !   there  he    comes  now !     Mr. 

Greeley,  this  gentleman  asks  for  you." 

The  philosopher  of  the  Tribune  ascended 
the  steps,  nodded  awkwardly,  and  turned 
to  Vernon. 

"  Wish  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  desire  a  few  minutes'  con- 
versation, if  you  can  spare  the  time." 

"  Walk  in,  sir — I  can  give  you  thirty 
minutes — no  longer  !  " 

Mr.  Greeley  led  the  way  into  a  dingy- 
looking  oflBce  ;  and,  pointing  Vernon  to  a 
seat,  said,  as  he  did  so : 

"  Well  ?  " 

Vernon  proceeded,  upon  receiving  this 
intimation  of  his  listener's  readiness,  to 
make  a  rapid,  terse,  and  luminous  state- 
ment ;  in  which  he  informed  his  auditor  of 
the  length  of  his  residence  in  New  York, 
the  character  of  his  labors,  the  difficulties 
which  he  encountered,  his  present  aspira- 
tions, and  the  motive  that  induced  him  to 
seek  the  interview. 

"  In  a  word,"  he  concluded,  "  I  want  your 
advice.     You  are  experienced,  and  have  in- 


fluence. If  there  is  any  possibility  of  ob- 
taining competence  from  labor  with  the 
pen,  you  can  suggest  the  best  course.  I 
am  a  Southerner,  a '  rebel '  of  the  most  un- 
compromising kind  ;  but,  from  your  repu- 
tation as  a  philanthropist,  I  am  assured 
that  you  will  aid  me  with  your  counsel." 

"  My  young  friend,"  responded  the  Phil- 
osopher, having  listened  without  impa- 
tience or  interruption,  until  Vernon  con- 
cluded, "  I  have  about  a  thousand  similar 
applications  every  week " 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Vernon. 

" And  I  invariably  give  the  same 

answer."  This  he  said  with  a  twinkle  of 
the  eye. 

"  You  advise ?  " 


" I  advise  all  young  men  from  the 

country,  who  come  to  New  York  to  seek 
fortune,  to  go  home.  If  I  were  God  Al- 
mighty I  would  arrange  it  so  that  every 
young  man  in  the  United  States,  who  has 
the  desire,  could  come  to  New  York,  live, 
and  get  rich!  But  I  am  not — unfortu- 
nately !  " 

"  Do  you  think  the  same  advice  is  equally 
good  for  all  to  whom  it  is  given  ?  "  asked 
the  Carolinian. 

"  Yes.  Some  follow  it,  and  they  do 
right ;  then  some  don't  follow  it,  and  they 
are  right  too  !  The  weak,  the  vacillating, 
and  the  timid  return  to  their  homes  in  the 
countrj',  and  eat,  and  drink,  and  die,  as 
their  fathers  did,  in  obscurity.  Others  stay 
here— the  fellows  of  pluck,  brains,  endu- 
rance, ambition — and  they  eventually  make 
their  way  to  the  goals  of  their  aspiration. 
The  fools,  who  go  back  home,  think  Hor- 
ace Greeley  is  a  wise  old  man,  and  they  are 
right ;  the  crack  men,  the  energetic,  the 
strong,  the  geniuses,  who  remain  and  suc- 
ceed, have  a  poor  opinion  of  my  judgment! 
and  they  are  wrong  !  " 

"  But  in  a  case  like  mine,  Mr.  Greeley, 
where  there  is  no  choice  left — what  would 
you  suggest  ?  I  am  here  ;  I  can't  get  away ; 
I  prefer  not  to  starve  ;  or  turn  swindler ;  or 
get  into  prison  ;  or  into  debt.  Is  there  any 
way  to  avoid  these  menacing  evils  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  get  regular  employment  ?  " 

"  Outside  of  writing,  no ! — I  have  tried 
recently.  As  a  writer,  no  !  I  know  nobody 
who  has  any  influence,  and  none  of  the 


132 


DOLORES. 


papers  that  I  vrrite  for  can  give  me  a  situa- 
tion— unless  you  can  give  me  employment 
on  the  I'lUmne. 

"  No  ;  I  can't  do  that.  I  am  not  an  editor 
of  the  Tribune,  and  have  no  voice  in  its 
management.  I  own  a  little  stock  in  it — 
you  know  it  belongs  to  a  corporation  ! — hut 
that  is  my  only  connection  with  it,  except 
that  I  write  articles,  and  they  are  bought 
and  printed  in  its  columns.  Can  you  write 
trash?" 

"  I  really  don't  know  whether  what  I 
write  is  trash,  or  not,"  was  the  blushing  re- 
sponse. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that !  Anybody  can 
write  sense ;  but  can  you  write  nonsense, 
Btuflf",  stories,  romances,  namby  pamby 
things  for  the  literary  papers  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  could  ;  but  I  have  never  at- 
tempted anything  of  the  kind." 

"  If  you  can  write  stories  with  plenty  of 
sensational  stuff  in  them,  they  will  sell  bet- 
ter than  anything  else,  because  there  is 
a  steadier  demand  for  them  than  for  solid 
articles — not  that  the  pay  is  as  good.  But 
they  must  be  full  of  startling  develop- 
ments and  exciting  mysteries,  and  require 
to  be  written  in  the  best  style — the  market 
is  glutted  with  mediocre  wares." 

"  Would  you  give  up  the  other  class  of 
writings  entirely  ?  " 

"  By  no  means  !  Keep  all  the  customers 
you  have  supplied,  and  write  these  besides. 
Now,  I  think  of  it,  you  might  do  something 
for  Swcetser's  paper — the  Mail.  Personal- 
ities, gossip,  pen-and-ink  sketches — can  you 
do  that  sort  of  work  ?  " 

"  Better  than  anything  else  !  " 

"  Then  go  at  it !  Be  brilliant,  pungent, 
and  disgracefully  personal,  and  you  can't 
fail  of  winning  Sweetser's  favor.  He  needs 
some  smart  writer — the  conception  of  his 
enterprise  was  bright,  but  the  execution 
is contemptible.    He  only  pats  Fouit 

DOLLARS  A  COLOIJI— JIIKION  !  " 

The  Philosopher  made  this  fling  at  the 
Mail ;  looked  at  his  watch ;  and  rose  from 
his  seat.  Vernon  took  the  hint ;  and  pre- 
pared to  leave. 

"  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Gree- 
ley," said  he,  "for  the  kind  suggestions 
which  you  have  made.  I  shall  endeavor  to 
evince  my  appreciation  by  making  good  use 
of  them." 


"  Very  glad  to  have  been  able  to  put 
you  on  a  new  tack,  if  it  will  do  you  any 
good  !  " 

Bidding  the  Philosopher  "  Good  morn- 
ing," Vernon  departed.  When  he  Avas 
half  way  down  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  he 
was  halted  by  a  call  from  above.  Looking 
up  towards  the  door,  he  saw  Mr.  Greeley 
standing  there  ;  and  he  started  back.   '■ 

"  Never  mind  coming  up !  I  only  wanted 
to  caution  you  to  write  your  stories  over  a 
nom  de  plume  !  It  will  add  to  their  mys- 
tery, and  make  them  more  popular  with 
readers,  and  more  saleable  with  publish- 
ers." 

"  Thank  you,  sir !  I  will  bear  it  ia 
mind." 

And  again  saying  "  Good  morning," 
Vernon  retired. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

Verkon's  interview  with  Mr.  Greeley 
was  valuable  in  its  result,  if  for  no  other 
reason  than  the  fact  that  it  restored  his 
cheerfulness  and  reanimated  him  with  the 
purpose  of  continuing  the  fight  with  ad- 
versity. 

He  left  the  editorial  rooms  of  the  Tribune 
with  the  intention  of  thoroughly  testing 
the  worth  of  the  suggestions  which  had 
been  so  unreluctantly  furnished  him  from 
the  fund  of  experience  of  the  generous  but 
idiosyncratic  old  journalist. 

Vernon's  experience  in  New  York  had 
been  quite  romantic,  for  his  circumstances 
varj-ing  between  occasional  heights  of  good 
fortune  and  general  depths  of  ill  luck,  had 
thrown  him  into  contact  with  a  number  of 
queer  people,  and  placed  him  in  a  number 
of  unusual  and  extraordinary'  situations. 
In  this  way  he  had  acquired  an  almost  in- 
exhaustible fund  of  incidents  and  material 
for  his  pen,  upon  which  he  could  draw  for 
illustration  of  his  fictions,  and.  from  which 
he  eould  fill  the  sketchy,  gossipy  articles 
that  he  purposed  to  prepare  for  the  Mail. 

He  sought  out  the  office  of  this  jom-nal, 
and  saw  its  editor — ]Mr.  Sweetser,  who  was 
formerly  connected  with  The  Round  I'dblCy 


i 


DOLORES, 


133 


under  tis  administration  a  pretentious 
sheet  that  prided  itself  on  its  malignant 
and  illiberal  criticisms. 

He  was  not  prepossessed  with  a  favora- 
ble opinion  of  Mr.  Sweetser,  whom  he  found 
to  be  a  dandy  in  dress  and  an  unmitigated 
coxcomb  in  manners.  Self-complacent, 
imagining  himself  a  very  creditable  imita- 
tion of  Sidney  Smith,  with  the  appearance 
of  a  Yale  or  Harvard  graduate — the  set  are 
all  alike ! — this  inflated  personage,  made 
vain  by  the  encomiums  of  the  Mutual  Ad- 
miration Society,  of  which  he  was  a  mem- 
ber, presented  in  his  looks  and  demeanor 
all  the  characteristics  that  betoken  genius 
— of  the  swell-head  order ! 

Yernon  offered  a  couple  of  trifles  for  his 
examination,  with  a  view  to  their  publica- 
tion in  the  Jtfail.  Sweetser  read  them  and 
piuchased  them  eagerly — betraying  very 
little  more  politeness,  however,  than  was 
usually  displayed  in  that  brusque  and  un- 
gentlemanly  manner  peculiar  to  Ahern  of 
the  Gazette,  who  could  not  have  been  more 
destitute  of  good  breeding  or  more  con- 
spicuously without  refinement,  if  he  had 
been  suckled  and  reared  by  a  female  go- 
rilla. 

Ascertaining  that  Mr.  Sweetser  would 
purchase  such  articles  with  some  regularity 
and  that  he  would  pay  an  enormous  price 
per  column,  approximating  fifty  cents  a 
page  of  foolscap,  Yernon  hurried  away  to 
dispose  of  a  novelette  which  he  had  written 
with  some  care  and  which  his  taste  ap- 
proved to  be  as  good  as  most  others  of  its 
class. 

He  left  Frankfort  Street  on  which  the 
Mail  publication  office  was  then  situated, 
and  passed  into  Beekman,  after  walking 
down  which  he  soon  arrived  at  the  Ledger 
office. 

Reaching  this  building  Roland  mounted 
the  stairs,  peeped  through  the  glass  door, 
turned  the  latch,  and  entered  and  inquired 
for  Mr.  Bonner. 

While  waiting  for  an  answer  to  this 
question — the  clerk  had  to  see  Mr.  B.  before 
he  could  reply — Yernon  made  a  critical  ex- 
amination of  about  a  dozen  paintings  of  a 
dark  bay  or  brown  horse,  in  different  atti- 
tudes in  each  picture,  which  were  hanging 
on  the  walls,  and  were  stuck  about  else- 
where inside  the  establishment  of  the  own- 


er of  noble  Dexter.  His  contemplation  of 
these  portraits  was  disturbed  by  the  return 
of  the  clerk,  who  said,  with  an  affable  smile 
that  caused  amazement  (a  smile  is  such  an 
extraordinary  thing  in  a  New  York  printing 
oSice !) : 

"  Walk  in  this  way,  sir.  Mr.  Bonner  wiU 
see  you." 

Yernon  passed  through  an  opening  in 
the  counter,  and,  following  the  direction  of 
the  clerk's  finger,  took  two  or  three  steps 
inside  a  door  and  confronted  a  gentleman 
of  about  five  feet  nine,  stout,  broad  shoul- 
dered, well  dressed,  with  a  face  that  won 
respect,  confidence,  and  esteem  at  a  glance, 
and  that  was  lit  up  by  eyes  that  so  fascin- 
ated with  their  rare  spell  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  tell  their  color,  but  which 
beamed  with  intelligence  and  twinkled 
with  good  humor.  This  was  Mr.  Robert 
Bonner,  the  most  agreeable  journalist  of  the 
metropolis. 

Yernon  was  motioned  to  a  seat  by  Mr. 
Bonner ;  after  taking  which,  he  submitted 
his  manuscript  to  the  editor's  perusal.  Mr. 
Bonner  glanced  at  the  first  page,  then  at 
the  others  quickly  in  succession,  and  with 
that  intuitive  instinct  which  guides  the 
journalist  in  determining  whether  to  read, 
or  not  to  read,  proffered  contributions, 
made  up  his  mind  instantly. 

"This  seems  to  be  of  a  different  style 
from  the  stories  usually  tendered  by  un- 
known writers,"  said  he,  "  and,  ynih  your 
permission,  I  will  retain  the  manuscript 
until  day  after  to-morrow.  I  would  like  to 
examine  it  more  closely  than  I  now  can." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Bonner  !  "  responded  Ro- 
land. "  I  would  exceedingly  like  to  have 
it  appear  in  the  Ledger — the  prestige  would 
be  worth  a  great  deal  to  me,  as  you  have 
the  credit  of  publishing  the  best  paper  of 
your  kind  in  the  city.  I  should  like  to 
have  you  give  it  a  careful  examination  for 
that  reason." 

"  I  will.  But  perhaps  your  compliment 
is  undeserved.  Of  one  thing  we  may  boast, 
however  :  we  publish  the  most  popular  pa- 
per in  the  world.  Still  we  are  aware  that 
all  of  our  contributions  are  not  what  the 
critics  term  select  literature.  Nevertheless 
it  suits  the  million  ;  we  print  for  the  mil- 
lion !  " 

"  I  understand,  sir.    There  is  a  demand 


134 


DOLORES. 


for  a  certain  class  of  reading  ;  and  you  un- 
dertake to  supply  that  demand." 

"  Precisely  1  And,  consequently,  we  do 
not  claim  to  print  exclusively  for  persons 
of  a  severely  classical,  scliolarly,  or  critical 
taste.  For  tliis  reason,  many  stories  of 
high  artistic  merit  are  declined  by  us— not 
that  they  are  not  good  enough,  but  that 
they  do  not  suit  our  readers.  Possibly, 
your's  may  be  of  that  character  !  " 

"  If  I  can  secure  from  you  the  expression 
of  such  an  opinion,  after  you  have  read  it 
carefully,  I  shall  ask  the  privilege  of  sub- 
mitting something  adapted  to  the  genius  of 
your  columns.  If  it  is  adjudged  to  be  with- 
out merit  of  any  kind,  of  course  I  niust 
forego  the  hope  of  gratifying  that  aspira- 
tion." 

After  much  other  conversation,  Mr.  Bon- 
ner remarked : 

"  It  is  held  by  some  quarrelsome  critics, 
that  a  moral  wrong  is  committed  in  the 
publication  of  the  class  of  literature  which 
is  generally  found  in  the  Ledger.  But  I 
hold  difiFerently.  If  the  Ledger  does  not 
supply  the  demand,  other  papers  will,  for 
to  attempt  to  reform  public  taste  and  to 
elevate  the  public  sentiment  would  be  the 
grandest  of  follies.  Human  nature  is  now 
what  it  always  has  been  and  always  will 
be,  and  man  cannot  improve  the  Divine 
work.  Therefore,  I  publish  to  gratify  the 
taste  that  exists  ;  but  in  yielding,  I  do  not 
debase.  On  the  contrary,  I  prevent  it  from 
being  debauched  by  occupying  the  ground 
that  others,  who  would  have  no  scruples 
and  who  would  exert  no  influence  to  check 
a  tendency  to  depravity,  would  occupy  if  I 
were  to  abandon  the  field.  Having  the 
start  of  them,  I  am  master  of  the  situation, 
and,  in  a  great  degree,  I  am  the  arbiter  of 
opinion  in  respect  to  these  matters." 

"  I  fully  coincide  with  and  approve  of 
your  views  ;  and  regard  it  as  a  very  fo;;^u- 
nate  thing  for  the  country  that  you  hold 
the  influential  position  which  the  Ledger 
has  achieved  for  you." 

Having  concluded  this  interchange  of 
opinion,  Vernon  and  Mr.  Bonner  parted — 
the  gentleman  Bohemian  going  to  his  lodg- 
ings to  continue  his  labors. 

At  the  appointed  hour  Vernon  presented 
himself  a  second  time  at  the  Ledger  ofiice, 
and  was  again  received  with  great  urbanity. 


Since  his  last  visit  circumstances  had  con- 
spired to  deprive  him  of  one  of  the  re- 
sources upon  which  he  had  relied  ;  and, 
for  that  reason,  he  was  very  anxious  to  as- 
cejtain  the  fate  of  his  contribution,  to  get 
his  pay  for  it  if  accepted,  to  attempt  to 
make  some  other  disposition  of  it  if  de- 
clined. 

Vernon  sat  silently  while  Mr.  Bonner, 
without  speaking,  looked  over  a  number 
of  manuscripts  in  search  of  the  one  which 
his  visitor  had  left,  all  the  while  giving 
no  indication  for  the  satisfaction  of  the 
anxiety  of  the  young  writer. 

"  Ah  !  here  it  is  !  "  exclaimed  the  editor, 
his  eye  lighting  upon  the  pages  over  the 
lines  of  which  the  bold  characters  of  Ver- 
non's handwriting  were  distinctly  traced. 
"  It  is  marked  '  very  good,  but  unsuitable.' 
You  know  that  we  have  to  furnish  matter 
specially  adapted  to  our  readers !  " 

"  Yes.  And  I  am  to  understand  that 
this  failure  does  not  preclude  me  fi-om  re- 
ceiving another  examination,  if  I  attempt 
something  of  the  peculiar  class  that  you 
print  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  We  will  take  pleasure  in 
examining  anything  which  your  own  taste 
approves.  But  I  may  as  well  remark  that 
we  have  piles  of  accepted  contributions, 
which,  for  want  of  space,  we  are  unable  to 
publish.  Unless  there  is  something  pre- 
eminently striking  in  anything  new  that  is 
brought  to  us,  we  cannot  promise  to  pub- 
lish immediately." 

"  Oh,  I  will  be  perfectly  satisfied  to  sub- 
mit to  your  judgment,  whatever  it  may  be. 
Can  you  suggest  a  good  disposition  for  this 
trifle  ?  " 

"  Wliy,  I  should  think  almost  any  of  the 
weekly  literary  i^apers  would  buy  it. 
Have  you  ever  tried  to  sell  any  of  your 
tales  to  any  of  them  ?  You  know  they  do 
not  pay  very  handsomely — ten  dollars,  or 
fifteen,  would  be  a  high  price  from  most  of 
them  for  such  a  contribution." 

"  I  have  not.  This,  which  I  have  ofTered 
you,  is  my  first  effort  at  romancing.  But 
tell  me,  why  is  it  that  the  pay  is  so  insig- 
nificant ? " 

"  Because  most  of  the  poorer  journals  re- 
print from  the  English  periodicals  and 
weeklies — a  most  infamous  piracy  on  the 
property  of  foreign  writers  and  publishers, 


DOLORES. 


135 


and  a  serious  evil  as  respects  its  effect  upon 
American  literature." 

"  Wliicb  fact  is  tlie  best  arorument  in  fa- 
vor of  an  International  Copyright  Law !  " 

"  Precisely !  But  from  present  indica- 
tions it  is  an  abuse  wliich  in  all  probability 
will  not  be  corrected  for  many  years.  The 
Publishing  Interests  are  all  allied  against 
the  proposed  reformation  of  this  evil." 

At  length,  having  trenched  too  much  al- 
ready on  the  courtesy  of  the  genial  jour- 
nalist, Vernon  left  his  fascinating  society 
and  set  forth  in  pursuit  of  a  purchaser  for 
his  story.  As  he  made  his  way  back  to 
Broadway,  his  notice  was  claimed  by  a 
sign,  swinging  above  the  pavement,  on 
which  was  inscribed : 


Office  of  the 
NEW  YORK  


Vernon  recollected  that  he  had  seen 
several  copies  of  this  publication,  and  re- 
membered that  its  literary  merits  were  far 
inferior  to  most  of  the  journals  that  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  reading,  although  the  paper 
had  some  reputation  as  the  organ  of  a  fac- 
tion of  a  great  political  party. 

"  If  I  can  sell  my  story  at  all,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  "  I  cannot  fail  to  get  it 
off  here.    If  they  were  very  critical   the 

would  be  a  better  paper.     I  must  get 

five  dollars  this  morning,  even  if  I  can  sell 
it  for  no  more." 

And  feeling  thus,  Vernon  passed  up  the 
step,  entered  the  counting  room,  approached 
the  clerk's  desk,  inquired  for  the  editor,  and 
was  shown  into  a  room  immediately  in  rear. 

In  each  corner  farthest  from  the  entrance 
of  this  sanctum,  was  a  table  covered  with 
MSS.,  exchanges,  and  scraps  of  paper.  At 
the  table  in  the  left  corner  a  light  com- 
plected and  slightly  built  young  man  of 
probably  thirty  years,  sat  engaged  with 
his  pen.  At  the  opposite  table  a  large 
framed,  burly,  pleasant  looking  personage, 
with  heavy  whiskers,  was  similarly  em- 
ployed. 

Nearer  the  door  through  which  Vernon 
entered,  and  on  the  right,  was  another  ta- 
ble. It  was  in  front  of  an  English  looking 
individual,  of  foppish  appearance,  who  was 


reading  aloud  some  lines  that  sounded 
wonderfully  like  doggerel.  As  he  looked  up 
and  cried,  "  I  flatter  myself  that  this  is  the 
best  poem  I  ever  wrote,"  Vernon  perceived 
that  he  wore  very  neatly  trimmed  mutton- 
chop  whiskers;  and,  wliile  the  other  edi- 
tors congratulated  him  heartily  on  the 
beauty  of  his  verses,  saying  "  Capital, 
General  —  capital ! "  he  had  time  to  ad- 
mire the  poetaster's  smoothly  brushed 
brown  hair  which  was  prettily  parted  in 
the  middle. 

"  Is  the  editor  of  the here  ?  "  asked 

Vernon,  as  soon  as  the  employees  ceased 
their  clatter  of  purchased  admiration  for 
their  rhyming  employer's  effusion. 

"  Yes.  Which  do  you  want  ?  "  replied 
the  big  whiskered  occupant  of  the  right 
corner  table. 

"  The  one  who  examines  manuscripts — I 
have  a  contribution  to  offer." 

"  The  gentleman  in  the  other  corner  will 
take  it,  sir  !  " 

Vernon  drew  the  manuscript  from  his 
pocket ;  the  editor  took  it  and  glanced  at 
the  title  of  the  story  ;  then,  after  reading  a 
page  or  two,  seemed  to  be  pleased. 

"  Will  you  leave  it,  and  call  again  in 
two  or  three  days  ?  "■  (Formula ! — as  C.  R. 
says.) 

"  Excuse  me,  sir !  It  will  not  take  you 
long  to  read  it ;  and,  as  I  desire  to  realize 
on  it  at  once,  I  prefer  not  to  wait." 

'•'  I  must  decline  to  read  it  then !  " 

"  I  regret  that  I  shall  consequently  be 
compelled  to  forego  the  honor  of  i>ublishing 
in  the ." 

Vernon  turned  to  leave.  The  editor  called 
him  back.  An  endeavor  to  overcome  Ver- 
non's objections  to  leaving  the  manuscript  ; 
and  a  persistence  in  the  refusal  originally 
made.     Words !     Words ! 

"  So  you  positively  refuse  !  " 

"  Yes.  Unless  you  purchase  now  and  ex- 
amine afterwards." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  inquired  the 
sentimental  person  who  loved  to  read  his 
own  verses  aloud  and  who  rejoiced  in  the 
facetious  title  of  General.  (The  lines  read 
on  that  occasion  were  not,  "  Don't  hit  him 
WHILE  he's  down  !  ")  "  What  is  the  dif- 
ference between  you  ?  " 

The  man  of  the  left  corner  table  gave  the 
man  of  poetic  aspiration  and  military  re- 


136 


DOLORES. 


noAvn  an  account  of  the  perverseness  of  the 
man  of  the  manuscript. 

The  man  of  the  left  corner  was  dressed 
neatly  but  not  foppishly  ;  the  man  of  poetic 
aspiration  and  military  renown  was  dressed 
gaudily  and  dandyishly  ;  the  man  of  the 
manuscript  was  dressed  shabbily,  wore  his 
hair  long,  his  beard  untrimmed — there  re- 
mained very  little  resemblance,  in  the  hairy 
mass  of  ugliness  that  shrouded  his  face 
and  bloused  the  crown  of  his  head,  to  the 
pretty  golden-tressed  boy  of  the  cedar  arch- 
way at  Ilushbrook. 

The  man  of  the  poetic  aspiration  and 
military  renown,  when  informed  of  the  un- 
reasonable perversity  of  the  man  of  the 
manuscript,  put  his  glass  to  his  eye  and 
looked  superciliously  at.  the  offender,  and, 
then,  turning  to  the  men  of  the  right  and 
left  corners,  observed : 
■  "  "S^Tiy,  of  course  !  A  person  who  sports 
such  a  heavy  head  of  hair  and  presents 
such  an  air  of  genius  in  the  carelessness  of 
his  dress  deserves  to  get  the  best  prices  for 
his  manuscripts  before  they  are  examined. 
Give  him  fifty  dollars  and  take  the  story  ! 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha !  " 

Then  the  person  of  the  doggerel  propen- 
sity, enjoying  his  own  delicate  satire  as 
much  as  he  enjoyed  his  own  "  best  poem," 
seemed  to  be  wonderfully  tickled. 

Vernon  had  no  eyeglass,  but  he  made 
his  hands  serve  the  purpose.  Doubling  his 
fists,  leaving  an  aperture  between  fingers 
and  thumb,  he  clapped  each  to  his  eyes  and 
leisurely  contemplated  the  exquisitely  made 
up  popinjay  who  had  criticised  his  appear- 
ance. 

"  Why,  really  !  "  said  he,  mimicking  the 
tone  of  the  poetaster.  "  One  would  think 
you  could  afford  to  be  even  more  liberal. 
The  nicely  combed  and  elaborately  soaped 
mutton-chops  that  adorn  your  blushing 
cheeks,  and  the  beautiful  brown  hair,  with 
its  sweet  part  in  the  middle,  that  lies  glued 
to  your  head,  glistening  with  grease  and 
smelling  of  sweet  perfumes,  proclaims  your 
prosperity  ;  the  clothes  that  you  wear  pro- 
nounce even  in  more  distinct  tones  than 
your  manners  that  you  are  a  gentleman  ; 
your  poetry  attests  your  sentiment ;  while 
your  title  convinces  me  that  you  are  a  pearl 
of  valor.  Prosperity!  Oentility !  Sex- 
TrMEKT.\xiTY !     BRAVERY !     Surely,  pos- 


sessing these  virtues,  you  must  be  the  very 
flower  of  generosity  !     Ha  !  ha !  ha ! " 

The  man  of  the  manuscript  laughed  a 
stage  laugh,  and  threw  himself  into  a  stage 
attitude. 

A  dead  silence ! 

The  men  of  the  right  and  left  corners 
looked  on  and  listened,  and  then  stared 
with  blank  amazement.  The  personage  of 
the  Parnassus-climbing  penchant  tm-ned 
red,  white,  and  black. 

"  Leave  here,  sir  !  "  he  hoarsely  muttered, 
at  length,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  Leave 
this  moment ! " 

The  men  of  the  right  and  left  corners,  in 
mellow  accents,  echoed  the  words  of  their 
master : 

"  Leave ! ! " 

"  I  shall  proceed  to  gratify  you  in  a  few 
seconds,"  responded  the  man  of  the  manu- 
script, uow  losing  control  of  his  temper. 
"  But  before  departing  from  this  hospitable 
retreat,  I  feel  that  it  is  due  to  myself  to  re- 
mark that  you,  sir,  whom  these  persons  call 
General,  are  a  contemptible  blackguard ; 
that  you  are  an  unmanly,  cowardly,  de- 
spicable knave !  I  bid  you  good  morning 
—all !  " 

Stung  with  the  sense  of  defeat  at  his  own 
game,  and  writhing  under  the  denunciation 
of  Vernon,  the  General,  as  he  was  called, 
sprang  at  the  Carolinian,  and  seized  him  by 
the  shoulder,  and  endeavored  to  eject  him 
forcibly.  ' 

The  fingers  of  Vernon's  right  hand  in- 
stinctively clutched  the  throat  of  the  as- 
sailant, and  those  of  the  left  made  a  foray 
on  the  pretty  brown  hair.  'Neath  the  grip 
of  the  infuriate  Southerner,  the  poetaster's 
eyes  began  to  start  from  their  sockets  like 
pulp  from  a  squeezed  grape,  and  the  ofiice 

of  the  New  York came  very  near  being 

the   scene  of   its    proprietor's    disgi-aceful 
chastisement. 

Harkl 

The  shuffling  of  four  feet,  and  the  mal- 
edictions, loud  and  powerful,  of  two  voices, 
clashed  on  combatants'  ears. 

The  men  of  the  right  and  left  corners 
rushed  to  the  rescue  of  the  brown-haired 
person  who  praised  his  own  rhymes  and 
admired  his  own  wit.  They  seized  the 
crippled  knight  of  the  manuscript ;  they 
threw  him  upon  the  floor ;  they  held  him. 


DOLORES. 


137 


one  at  eacli  arm,  in  that  liumble  position. 
The  knight  coiled  up  his  broken  leg,  so  as 
not  to  get  it  injured,  and,  with  the  other, 
kicked  gallantly. 

The  poet-politician — soldier — editor,  for- 
getting the  moral  of  some  of  his  own  pretty 
lines,  called  "  Don't  Hit  Him  while  He's 
Down,"  heroically  avoided  the  kicking  foot 
of  the  prostrate  owner  of  the  heavy^  head  of 
hair,  and,  with  a  chivalric  valor  that  put 
the  buuimers  of  Sherman  to  the  eternal 
blush,  and  a  sublime  courage — borrowed 
from  the  example  of  Hunter  the  Malignant 
— sprang  upon  him,  and  banged  him,  and 
stamped  hira,  and  beat  him  without  mercy 
— the  men  of  the  right  and  left  corners 
holding  the  victim  fast. 

At  length  the  soldier-poet  rose  ;  and  from 
his  lowly  posture  up  got  the  tottering  ro- 
mancist. 

"  Ye  damned  pack  of  bkutes  —  ye 
damned  cowards — i  spit  on  ye  ax,l  !  " 

He  said.  The  General,  flushed  with  re- 
cent victory,  again  started  at  him.  The 
defeated  Bohemian  advanced  to  receive  the 
attack. 

"  Back  into  your  office.  General !  "  This 
was  said  by  a. stout  fellow,  wearing  a  prin- 
ter's paper  cap,  who,  Avith  several  of  his 
fellows,  had  just  descended  from  the  floor 
above,  in  time  to  witness  the  close  of  the 
struggle.  "  Back  !  Else  we  will  see  that 
this  man  has  fair  play.   Back  ;  OR  WE  will 

LEI  HIM  WHIP  YOU,  BY  GOD  !  " 


CHAPTER    Vni. 

The  General  stood  a  few  seconds,  as  if 
hesitating  as  to  his  course ;  and  then,  obey- 
ing, retired  to  his  seat. 

Meanwhile,  the  printers  surrounded  Ver- 
non and  gently  carried  him  to  the  door 
and  forced  him  through ;  down  the  steps, 
and  placed  him  standing  upright  on  the 
flagstones  of  the  pavement.  When  they 
went  back  up  stairs,  and  left  him,  after  a 
brief  pause,  he  limped  slowly  away.  His 
mind  was  full  of  indignant  and  desperate 
thouglits.  There  was  a  flerce  gleam  sav- 
agely playing  from  his  eyes,  and  his  thin 


defiant  lips  were  half  curled  in  scorn,  half 
fixed  with  an  expression  of  iron  resolve. 
The  hot  angry  blood  mantled  his  face  with 
a  flush  of  vindictive  purpose. 

He  walked  towards  General  Carson's  of- 
flce,  getting  more  excited  at  each  succes- 
sive step.  He  would  have  affrighted  his 
friends,  had  they  seen  him  then,  for  he  was 
constrained  by  a  fury  of  passion,  and  his 
mind  was  dwelling  upon  deadly  thoughts. 

General  Carson  was  quick  to  perceive 
this,  when  Vernon  entered  his  office;  and 
he  drew  him  a  chair  close  up  to  his  table. 
Taking  a  seat  here,  Vernon  waited  a  mo- 
ment endeavoring  to  recover  his  calmness, 
and  then  leant  over  and  asked,  in  a  deep, 
hoarse  whisper : 

"  Can  I  rely  on  your  friendship,  General  ? 
May  I  ask,  at  your  hands,  the  best  favor 
that  one  friend  can  demand  of  another  ?  " 

Without  waiting  to  consider  a  moment, 
but  seeing  that  something  of  an  extraordi- 
nary nature  had  happened,  the  General 
heartily  replied : 

"  Certainly,  Major !  Ask,  and  you  shall 
receive  !  " 

"  Give  me  pen,  ink  and  paper — I  want  to 
write  a  challenge  I "  was  the  Carolinian's 
fierce  exclamation. 

"  Be  patient !  If  you  need  my  services, 
first  acquaint  me  with  the  character  of  the 
difficulty  which  requires  such  a  wild  step 
for  its  settlement.  Wait  untU  you  get  cool, 
and  do  nothing  rashly.  Take  a  cigar  and 
calm  yourself !  " 

Vernon  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  and 
abruptly  said  : 

"  I  seek  your  assistance — not  your  coun- 
sel. My  mind  is  made  up — I  have  been 
grossly  outraged — I  must  kill  or  be  killed. 
There  can  be  no  adjustment — will  you  act 
for  me  t " 

"  Tes !  "  replied  Carson.  "  Impolitely  as 
you  treat  me,  I  will  be  your  friend.  But 
upon  this  condition :  Youmust  confide  every- 
thing to  me ;  you  must  give  my  opinion  a 
respectful  and  calm  hearing  ;  you  must  de- 
liberate twenty-four  hours  before  sending 
a  message. 

"  Why  make  these  terms  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  !     I  insist  upon  them  !  " 

"  Then  wait  until  I  smoke  !  "  responded 
Vernon. 

"  When  you  have  listened  to  me,"  con- 


13S 


DOLORES. 


tinned  General  Carson,  "and  when,  after 
■weigliing  what  I  sliall  say  and  deliberating 
on  it  for  twenty-four  hours,  you  determine 
upon  your  course,  I  care  not  what  you  re- 
solve upon,  I  wiU  stick  to  you — I  swear  I 
will !  " 

"  Then,  here's  my  hand  !  I  will  accept 
your  terms  ;  and  thank  you  too !  " 

At  length,  having  smoked  until  he  grew 
somewhat  calmer,  pressed  by  General  Car- 
son, Vernon  briefly  related  the  occurrences 
of  the  morning,  and,  concluding,  said: 

"  There  is  but  one  course  for  me  to  take. 
I  must  fight — make  him  fight.  And,  by 
God,  I  will !  " 

"  But  you  don't  know  your  assailant. 
His  name  was  not  mentioned  ;  he  may  be 
a  person  that  you  can't  meet !  "  interposed 
Carson. 

"  He  was  an  editor  of  the  New  York ; 

he  was  a  rhymster  ;  he  was  called  General. 
These  circumstances  induce  me  to  conclude 
that  he  was  General ." 

"  Very  true  !  "  rejoined  Carson.  "  The 
circumstances  are  strong.  But  suppose  it 
was  some  one  else — you  should  be  certain 
before  addressing  your  challenge  !  But 
grant  that  it  was  General !  You  can- 
not meet  him — he  is  not  a  gentleman." 

"  But  I  waive  all  objection.  He  is  a  man 
— a  white  man  !  " 

"  But,  my  friend,  if  he  is  not  a  gentle- 
man, he  will  not  fight  you  ;  if  he  is  a  cow- 
ard, as  his  behavior  to-day  proves,  he  will 
not  hesitate  to  hand  your  challenge  to  the 
District  Attorney,  and  the  upshot  will  be 
an  introduction  of  principal  and  second  to 
life  in  the  Penitentiary." 

"  Bah  !  I  know  Oakey  Hall,  the  District 
Attorney,  and  do  not  fear  such  a  result. 
Hall  is  a  man  of  chivalric  impulses — in  a 
word,  a  gentleman.  His  honor  may  be  re- 
lied on  under  all  circumstances.  He  would 
cut  off  his  right  hand  before  he  would  do  an 
unworthy  action.  There  is  no  need  of  ap- 
prehension that  he  would  lend  himself  to 
such  an  infamous  prosecution." 

"  Vernon,  you  are  excited.  Why  it's 
Hall's  duty  to  prosecute  every  violator  of 
the  law.    What  you  say  of  him  may  be 

true,  but " 

•  What  I  say  of  him  is  true.     He  be- 


longs to  a  class  of  men  which  is  nearly  ex- 
tinct in  this  city.    He  is  a  politician,  but 


not  a  scoundrel ;  an  editor,  but  still  a  gen- 
tleman ;  a  lawyer,  but  not  a 1  beg  your 

pardon.  General !  You  may  count  on  such 
a  man  to  do  right  under  all  circumstances. 
Oakey  Hall  is " 

"  Just  exactly  what  you  have  pronounced 
him  to  be,  and  even  more !  Granted,  for 
the  sake  of  bringing  you  to  a  point — 
granted !  Ergo,  when  Oakey  Hall's  duty 
as  a  public  officer  comes  in  conflict  with 
Oakey  Hall's  individual  convictions  or  sen- 
timents, Oakey  Hall,  as  an  honorable  man, 
will  be  forced  to  sacrifice  feeling  and  im- 
pulse to  public  duty.  If  you  send  a  chal- 
lenge to  General ,  and  if  I  carry  that 

challenge,  as  I  will  if  you  insist,  Roland 
Vernon,  Esq.,  late  Major  C.  S.  A.,  will  be 
indicted,  tried,  convicted,  and  sentenced  to 
a  term  of  service  in  the  Penitentiary. 
Ditto,  his  humble  servant  and  friend,  Jo- 
seph Carson,  late  Brevet  Major-General  U. 
S.  A.  An  infernally  nice  termination  of  a 
pleasant  little  affair  of  honor ! " 

"  Do  you  think  the  scoundrel  would  pur- 
sue that  course  ?  Do  you  think  a  soldier 
would  decline  an  invitation  to  combat  ?  " 

"  A  soldier  !  A  General  without  a  battle 
— a  Avielder  of  a  pen  instead  of  the  sabre. 
Yes,  he  would  decline ! " 

"  I  don't  understand  !  " 

"  Why,  this  General  ,  won  his  title 

with  his  pen  as  a  fighting  general's  clerk. 
Yi\s  forte  is  rhyming  ;  not  standing  in  front 
of  blaziiig  firearms.  He  is  a  recognized 
poltroon,  and  is  destitute  of  honor." 

"  What  would  you  do  then — cane  him  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  better!  But  you  would 
get  into  trouble — an  aggravated  assault — 
penitentiary  offence,  if  the  Judge  should  be 
in  a  bad  humor.  Prosecute  him,  or  sue 
him  for  damages — he  will  feel  that  more 
than  any  other  punishment  you  could  pos- 
sibly inflict." 

"  That  is  the  coward's  resort ! "  responded 
Vernon  with  a  sneer. 

"  It  is  not  so  considered  here — everybody 
does  it !  Duelling  is  regarded  as  a  crime , 
but  the  redress  of  the  law  is  sought  by  the 
most  honorable." 

"  The  redress  of  the  law  1  What  redress 
can  the  law  give  for  injuries  such  as  I  have 
received  ?    Money  ?    Bah  !  " 

"  Then,  if  you  will  not  go  to  the  Courts 
for  satisfaction,  do  nothing.     If  you  liad 


DOLORES. 


139 


money,  or  friends ;  if  you  could  give  liea\'y 
bail,  when  arrested,  you  might  cane  the 
villain.  As  you  are  poor  and  uninfluential, 
you  must  bear  the  contumely." 

"  I'll  take  your  advice.  General — I'll  take 
your  advice.  But  I'll  leave  New  York  ; 
and  go  back  to  some  North  Carolina  town 
where  a  poor  gentleman  may  live." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

How  Dolores  lived,  after  she  took  the 

cottage  in  C town,  was  a  mystery  to  the 

public,  a  mystery  to  her  friends,  and  a  mys- 
tery to  herself.     Nevertheless  she  did  live. 

Many  others  were  without  resources, 
having  been  ruined  by  the  results  of  the 
War,  and  yet  managed  to  get  along,  and 
that  too  with  less  thrift  and  industry  than 
she  possessed,  so  that  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  her  energy  kept  her  beyond 
the  reach  of  pressing  want. 

By  dressmaking,  millinery  work ;  and 
by  going  out  now  and  then  as  a  nurse,  a 
service  for  which  few  persons  were  better 
fitted,  she  acquired  an  income  just  sufficient 
to  relieve  her  of  the  necessity  of  calling  on 
her  benefactor  for  assistance. 

One  day,  about  six  months  after  her  re- 
turn to  C town,  Dolores  left  her  child- 
ren in  the  yard  at  their  play,  and  went 
out  to  carry  home  some  work  which  she 
had  finished  for  one  of  her  patronesses,  in- 
tending also  to  (Jo  certain  shopping  which 
she  had  deferred,  for  want  of  means,  until 
that  occasion.  Among  other  purchases  that 
she  remembered  were  to  be  made,  was 
some  ratsbane  for  the  purpose  of  extermin- 
ating certain  pestiferous  intruders  of  her 
pantry  and  storehouse. 

After  delivering  the  work,  and  making 
her  other  purchases,  Dolores  entered  the 
drug  store  of  Mr.  Edmonds.  The  proprie- 
tor was  engaged  at  the  time,  and  William 
Bangs,  the  clerk,  stepped  forward  to  wait 
upon  her,  smiling  a  polite  salutation. 

"  I  am  very  much  annoyed  at  home  by 
rats,  Mr.  Bangs,"  she  remarked  as  she  ap- 
proached the  counter,  "  and  I  wish  to  pur- 
chase something  to  rid   myself  of  them. 


Can  you  suggest  any  poison  that  will  serve 
my  purpose  ?  " 

"I  should  think  strychnine  or  arsenic 
would  do.     Shall  I  put  you  up  some  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  arsenic  better  than  strych- 
nine ?  "  inquired  Dolores. 

"  There  is  no  choice  between  them ! " 
was  the  reply. 

"  Then  I  will  take  arsenic !  " 

"  How  much  will  you  have  ?  " 

"How  much  will  do?" 

"  Why,  I  presume  an  ounce  will  be  quite 
as  much  as  you  will  want." 

"  Then  give  me  an  ounce  ! " 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ! " 

Bangs  whisked  away  to  fill  the  order. 

"  Arsenic  is  a  very  deadly  poison,  isn't  it, 
Mr.  Bangs?" 

Dolores  asked  the  question  while  Bangs 
was  weighing  the  poison. 

"  Indeed  it  is,  ma'am  !  " 

"  Then  can  you  put  it  up  very  carefully 
— I  fear  my  children  may  get  hold  of  it, 
and  I  shall  not  need  to  use  it  until  to-mor- 
row." 

"  Oh,  certainly !  I  will  put  it  in  one  of 
these  empty  ounce  salicine  bottles.  I 
can  seal  it  for  you,  if  you  say  so  ?  Then 
there  will  be  no  possible  danger  of  the 
children  getting  at  it,  until  you  are  ready 
for  its  use." 

"  Please  do !     I  will  be  greatly  obliged." 

With  a  profound  bow,  Mr.  Bangs  pro- 
ceeded to  place  the  lady  under  obligations 
for  his  courtesy.  He  poured  the  arsenic 
from  the  paper  in  which  it  was  weighed 
into  the  empty  bottle ;  he  corked  the  bot- 
tle ;  then  he  dipped  the  neck  into  a  pot  of 
hot  sealing-wax,  and  stamped  the  covered 
cork  with  a  die  kept  for  such  purposes : 


"  Thank  you,  madam  !  Just  hand  it  to 
Mr.  Edmonds,  please !  " 

Then  Bangs  to  Edmonds  : 

"  ;Mrs.    Ad Vaughn  "    (Dolores    had 

dropped  her  married  and  resumed  her  maid- 


140 


DOLORES, 


en  name)  "  wants  to  pay  thirty-five  cents— 
twenty-five  for  an  ounce  of  arsenic,  ten  for 
the  bottle." 

Dolores  handed  Mr.  Edmonds  a  treasury 
note,  and  Mr.  Edmonds  handed  Dolores  the 
change. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen ! " 

Dolores  courtesied,  drew  down  her  veil, 
and  tripped  out  of  the  store.  Then,  once 
in  the  street,  she  hastened  homewards. 

As  she  passed  the  Eagle  Hotel  she  saw  a 
gentleman  standing  on  the  second  story 
balcony.  The  sight  of  this  person  made 
her  tremble  and  grow  faint,  but  she  strug- 
gled to  preserve  her  calmness  and  rapidly 
continued  her  walk. 

Before  the  door  of  the  hotel  stood  a  rock- 
away.  Attached  to  it  were  a  pair  of  large 
and  handsome  bays.  Strongly  strapped  on 
the  rack  behind  were  a  couple  of  trunks — 
one  large,  the  other  small.  On  the  smaller 
were  painted  the  following  letters  :  P.  A. 
The  mitials  of  PAUL  ADAJ^IS  ! 

As  Dolores  hurried  along  in  the  direction 
of  the  cottage,  this  vehicle  dashed  by  her 
and  turned  a  corner  of  the  street,  going 
northwards.  Seeing  Adams,  as  he  rode 
away  from  her,  with  a  shudder,  Dolores 
wrapped  her  shawl  about  her  more  closely 
and  fled  onwards  with  a  quickened  pace. 
It  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  the  man 
■who  was  once  her  husband  since  they  part- 
ed in  New  York,  he  with  a  lie  on  liis  tongue 
and  malice  in  his  heart,  she  with  penitence 
in  her  breast  and  hope  flushing  her  face. 
The  sight  of  the  scoimdrel  frightened  her, 
and  she  was  not  free  from  apprehension 
■untU  she  reached  home  and  found  her 
children  safe. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  gratification, 
after  she  took  them  on  her  lap  and  kissed 
them,  hugging  them  to  her  bosom  as  if 
they  had  been  just  taken  and  restored. 

Dolores  had  not  forgotten  how  Paul  Ad- 
ams had  gone  to  Kochester  and  kidnapped 
them  wliUe  she  was  in  Springfield,  neglect- 
ing them  in  waiting  vainly  for  him  to  ful- 
fill his  pledges. 

No  wonder  she  was  frightened  ;  no  won- 
der she  clasped  her  children  in  her  arms  ; 
no  wonder  she  felt  grateful.  Grateful  that 
they  were  spared  to  her — grateful  that  he 
had  gone ! 


But  had  Paul  Adams  departed  from  C- 
town? 


CHAPTER  X. 

Whek  Paul  Adams  passed  Dolores,  driv- 
ing as  if  he  was  about  to  leave  the  village, 
he  was  merely  playing  a  game.  He  had 
not  intended  to  let  her  know  of  his  pres- 
ence in  C town  ;  and  when  he  discov- 
ered, as  she  went  by  the  hotel,  that  she  had 
noticed  him,  he  was  very  much  disconcert- 
ed. But  quick  in  scheming,  and  with 
ready  resources  always,  he  soon  struck  up- 
on the  plan  to  recover  the  advantage  which 
he  had  accidentally  lost. 

He  had  started  from  his  home  in  Mont- 
gomery county — the  home  acquired  by  his 
last  marriage — to  meet  a  political  commit- 
tee of  which  he  was  a  member  at  the  State 
Capital  ;  and,  intending  to  travel  through 

the  country,  via  C town,  he  had  been 

prevailed  upon  by  his  wife  to  let  her  ac- 
company him  on  the  visit.  She  was  taken 
sick  on  the  road — the  attack  having  been 
brought  on  by  tight  lacing  and  exhaustion, 

and  he  was  forced  to  halt  a  day  at  C 

town,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  in  that 
time  get  well  enough  to  proceed. 

While  loitering  about  the  town,  Adams 
passed  the  drug  store  of  Mr.  Edmonds,  and 
his  eye  caught  sight  of  his  deserted  wife. 
He  heard  her  call  for  arsenic,  and  his  quick 
diabolical  mind  seized  the  circumstance.  A 
scheme  had  long  lain  dormant  in  his  brain 
for  want  of  an  opportunity  for  its  execu- 
tion, and  now  the  means,  the  lack  of  which 
had  long  rendered  it  in  feasible,  were  pre- 
pared for  his  use.  Fearing  that  Dolores 
Avould  see  him,  he  hurried  back  to  the  hotel 
to  ponder  the  probabilities  of  failure  and 
success,  where  he  spent  several  minutes  in 
considering  the  wild  project  upon  which  he 
was  bent,  when  a  servant  announced  that 
his  horses  were  at  the  door.  He  remem- 
bered that  he  had  ordered  them  for  a  ride ; 
but,  since  this  enjoyment  would  perhaps 
disclose  the  knowledge  of  his  presence  to 
Dolores,  he  instantly  determined  to  forego 


DOLOEES. 


141 


the  pleasure,  and  stepped  upon  tlie  balcony 
to  direct  tlie  horses  and  vehicle  back  to  the 
stable.  He  saw  Dolores  pass  just  as  he 
went  out,  and  perceived,  although  he 
seemed  not  to,  that  she  recognized  him,  and 
that  he  had  lost  his  opportunity. 

He  was  disconcerted,  as  has  been  stated  ; 
but  disconcerted  only  for  a  moment.  A 
glance  at  the  rockaway,  while  hesitating, 
re-assured  him.  His  trunk  was  still  strap- 
ped on  the  rack.  He  might  pass  her  and 
delude  her  into  the  belief  that  he  was  go- 
ing away.  He  hurriedly  put  on  a  travel- 
ing duster  that  hung  immediately  -v^dthin 
his  chamber  door ;  hastened  down  stairs  ; 
sprang  into  the  vehicle  ;  and  drove  by  Do- 
lores, whirling  round  the  corner  of  the 
street  that  opened  into  the  Raleigh  road. 

Driving  a  few  miles  into  the  country,  and 
then  looking  at  his  watch,  and  finding  that 
by  returning  slowly  he  could  reach  town  af- 
ter dark,  he  ordered  the  heads  of  his  horses 
to  be  turned,  and  retraced  his  way  to  the 
hotel. 

He  was  pleased  to  find  when  he  returned 
that  his  wife  was  no  better,  and  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  her  to  continue 
her  journey  on  the  morrow,  as  she  was 
suffering  intensely  with  sick-headache. 
This  was  fortunate  for  him — just  what  he 
most  wanted. 

After  tea,  he  walked  to  Edmonds'  drug 
store  where  he  found  Dr.  McPherson,  a 
rather  recently  graduated  member  of  the 
Medical  Faculty,  lounging  and  in  conver- 
sation with  Bangs,  the  clerk. 

"  Good  evening,  gentlemen !  "  said  Ad- 
ams, with  great  blandness. 

Both  McPherson  and  Bangs  were  new 
comers  within  the  half  year ;  and,  conse- 
quently, neither  knew  Adams. 

"  Good  evening  sir  1 "  they  responded. 

"  Can  either  of  you  refer  me  to  a  compe- 
tent physician,  and  to  a  good,  attentive 
nurse  ?  My  wife  has  been  taken  sick,  and 
is  at  the  hotel  in  need  of  medicine  and  at- 
tention." 

"  This  is  Doctor  McPherson  I "  said 
Bangs,  pointing  to  the  practitioner;  and 
then  adding,  in  answer  to  the  rest  of  the 
inquiry  :  "  There  is  a  Mrs.  Vaughn  in  town, 
who  sometimes  goes  out  as  a  nurse,  and  if 
she's  not  engaged,  she  will  do  excellently 


— understands  the  duties  of  a  sick  room  to 
a  nicety." 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?  If  money  is  any 
object  with  her,  I  must  have  her  services," 
said  Adams  with  well  acted  show  of  igno- 
rance. "Do  you  think  she  is  competent, 
Doctor  ? " 

"  She  lives  on  Sand  Street ! "  replied 
Bangs. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  can  recommend  her ! "  an- 
swered the  Doctor. 

"Well,  I  would  like  to  have  you  visit 
my  wife  and  prescribe  ;  and  I  will  adminis- 
ter the  medicine  to-night.  To-morrow  I  will 
be  compelled  to  continue  my  journey  ;  and, 
if  you  think  the  attack  is  likely  to  prove 
serious,  I  wiU  ask  you  to  employ  Mrs. 
Vaughn  or  some  one  else,  and  send  her  up 
early  in  the  morning." 

The  youthful  -^sculapius  Avas  glad  to  ac- 
company Adams,  for  he  had  few  patients, 
and  this  looked  as  if  it  might  turn  out  to 
be  a  very  profitable  case.  Indeed,  estimat- 
ing the  patient's  husband  from  a  humane, 
professional,  standpoint  (anti-mercenary,  of 
course !)  he  appeared  to  be  fully  able  to 
pay  his  bills ;  and  that  was  a  considera- 
tion. 

Doctor  McPherson  accompanied  Adams, 
and  found  the  lady  suffering  very  much 
from  a  nervous  headache,  but  far  from  se- 
riously ill.  He  pursued  the  usual  course — 
looked  at  her  tongue,  felt  her  pulse,  shook 
his  head,  assumed  an  air  of  wisdom,  wrote 
a  prescription,  and  (subsequently)  pocketed 
a  dollar. 

Doctor  McPherson's  prescription  was  se- 
cundem  artem,  and  read  as  follows : 


Chloroform 

3iv. 

Tinct.  Camphor 

3iv. 

Tinct.  Card.  Co. 

3ii- 

Aq.  Camph, 

ad  3  iv. 

M.     S.  Chloroform  Mixture. 

Dose  :  A  teaspoonful  at  intervals  of  two 
hours  while  suffering  continues. 

H.  McP. 

"  Yes ;  I  think  you  had  better  have  Mrs. 
Vaughn  come  in  the  morning.  This  may 
prove  a  serious  matter  with  your  wife," 


142 


DOLORES. 


said  McPlicrson,  wlicn  he  lianded  Adams 
tlie  paper  on  -vvliich  his  prescription  was 
written. 

"  Is  this  to  be  administered  immediate- 
ly?" replied  Adams,  fathoming  him  at 
once,  and  anxious  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"  Yes ;  it  had  better  be  given  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  Very  well  then  ;  I  will  accompany  you 
to  the  drug  store,  and  have  it  prepared." 

The  Doctor  got  ready  to  start,  but  before 
going,  went  again  to  the  bedside,  and  took 
the  patient's  pulse  for  a  farewell  examina- 
tion. 

He  said  :  "  You  are  quite  sick,  Mrs. " 

"  Trenton !  "  prompted  Adams. 

"  Quite  sick,  Mrs.  Trentoa  ;  but  I  hope, 
Mrs.  Trenton,  that  you  will  be  better,  Mrs. 
Trenton,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days.  I 
will  caU  again,  Mrs.  Trenton,  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  Curse  the  fool ! "  muttered  Adams,  who 
feared  his  wife  would  correct  the  physician 
as  to  her  name,  and  that  she  might  thereby 
defeat  his  scheme.  "  Curse  the  fool !  How 
many  times  will  he  repeat,  '  Mrs.  Trenton? ' 
I  must  get  him  away !  " 

Adams  caught  the  Doctor's  arm,  and  hur- 
ried him  out  of  the  room  ;  and,  with  him 
walked  towards  Edmund's  store.  Here 
they  waited  a  few  minutes  until  the  inde- 
fatigable Bangs  put  up  the  mixture,  when 
they  parted ;  Adams  remarking,  however, 
before  starting  back  to  the  hotel : 

"  Be  sure  to  employ  the  nurse  to-night ; 
and  send  her  early  in  the  morning." 

"  I  will !  you  may  rely  on  me !  "  was  the 
reply. 

Paul  Adams  returned  to  his  wife,  when 
he  got  the  medicine,  and  immediately  gave 
her  a  dose,  saying,  as  he  did  so, 

"  You  know,  my  dear,  that  I  want  you  to 
get  well,  for  I  must  be  in  Raleigh,  day  after 
to-morrow,  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  darling  !  "  was  the  first  response 
from  the  bed.  "  But  I  fear  I  will  have  to 
let  you  go  on  alone." 

"  If  you  will  do  that,  I  will  come  back 
for  you,  and  your  visit  shall  be  made.  I 
regret  the  necessity  of  leaving  you  alone,  I 
assure  you,  my  wife,  but  public  business, 
you  know ! "  he  said,  bending  over  and 
giving  her  a  Judas'  kiss. 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  and  I  would  not  have  you 


stay  on  my  account  for  any  consideration." 
"  My  precious  wife !  "  and  he  again  kissed 
her.  "  But  there  is  one  difficulty  about  my 
going  on — I  cannot  leave  you  alone  !  Well, 
there  is  only  one  competent  nurse  in  town 
who  goes  out  to  strangers.  She  is  an  ene- 
my of  mine — you  know  this  is  my  old  home ! 
Now,  unless  you  will  pretend  to  be  Mrs. 
Trenton,  instead  of  Mrs.  Adams,  she  will 
refuse  to  come  to  you.  You  will  have  to 
practice  a  subterfuge.  Will  you  do  it,  for 
my  sake?" 

"  Certainly ;  if  you  wish  it,  Paul !  " 
A  beam  of  satisfaction  shot  from  the 
husband's  eye  ;  and  he  drew  a  long,  silent 
breath  of  triumph.  Now,  if  Dolores  should 
be  disengaged,  and  would  consent  to  come 
and  nurse  Sirs.  Trenton,  as  Dr.  McPherson 
had  undertaken  to  have  her  do,  the  last  ob- 
stacle was  surmounted,  the  victory  foi" 
which  he  had  battled,  won. 

Weighing  the  probabilities,  he  sat  by  his 
wife,  pressing  her  head,  and  dosing  her 
with  regularity,  until  after  midnight.  Then 
she  fell  asleep,  and  gave  evidence  of  pro- 
found slumber  by  a  steady  and  sonorous 
snoring. 

At  length,  when  satisfied  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  her  waking,  he  opened  his 
trunk,  which  he  had  ordered  to  his  room  after 
his  return  from  the  country  ride ;  and  from 
the  tray  he  took  out  a  small  square  pasteboard 
box.  This  he  opened,  and  from  it  drew 
forth  a  thick  bottle  of  two  oimces  capacity, 
with  a  glass  stopper.  This  he  opened,  and 
from  it  poured  a  whitish  powder  into  the 
vial  of  chloroform  mixture  prescribed  for 
Mrs.  Adams,  by  Dr.  McPherson.  The  bot- 
tle from  which  he  poured  was  labeled  :  and 
the  label  was  as  follows  : 


Having  done  this,  Adams  restored  the 
stopper  to  the  bottle,  the  bottle  to  the  box, 
the  bos  to  its  place  in  the  tray  of  the  trunk. 
Then  he  closed  the  trunk,  locked,  and 
strapped  it  for  his  journey. 


DOLORES. 


143 


Adams,  having  undressed,  walked  to  the 
maatlepiece,  and  looked  at  the  mixture  in- 
to which  he  had  introduced  the  arsenic, 
and  found  that  this  ingredient  had  not  dis- 
solved ;  so  he  took  up  a  pen,  and,  in  admi- 
rable imitation  of  Bangs'  caligraphy,  wrote, 

"To  BE    SHAKEN  BEFORE    EACH    DOSE    IS 

TAKEN  !  "  on  the  label  of  vial. 

Recollecting  nothing  else  necessary  to  be 
done,  Paul  Adams  knelt  down  and  said  his 
prayers,  put  his  boots  outside  the  door  to 
be  brushed,  and  then  got  into  bed,  and 
went  as  quietly  to  sleep  by  the  side  of  the 
woman  whose  death  he  had  just  compassed, 
as  if  he  had  never  entertained  any  except 
serenely  pure  and  heavenly  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XL 

About  four  o'clock  the  following  morn- 
ing, Adams  got  up  and  quietly  dressed 
himself ;  and  then,  waking  his  wife,  told 
her  that  she  must  remember  that  she  was 
Mrs.  Trenton,  and  under  no  circumstances 
let  the  nurse  know  or  suspect  her  connec- 
tion with  himself.  Then  he  had  a  servant  to 
take  his  trunk  down  stairs  and  strap  it  on 
the  rockaway,  when  he  followed,  after  bid- 
ding his  wife  good-bye,  and  started  upon 
his  journey. 

"  Two  birds  with  one  stone !  "  he  ex- 
claimed with  great  exultation,  as  he  took 
the  reins  in  his  hands,  and,  with  a  flourish 
of  the  whip,  thrashed  the  horses  into  a 
sweeping  trot.  "  Two  wives  gotten  rid  of 
at  one  stroke.  A  fortune  and  a  new  start 
in  life.  Tell  me  that  'Honesty  is  the  best 
Policy ! '     Bah  !  " 

K  Adams  had  delayed  his  departure  fif- 
teen minutes  longer,  he  would  have  been 
foiled  in  his  game,  for  Dolores  was  at  the 
hotel  in  a  very  short  while  after  he  started. 

The  divorced  wife  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
trick  by  which  she  was  being  duped.  She 
had  not  heard  of  Paul's  second  marriage, 
although  she  was  cognizant  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  obtained  the  Connecticut  divorce. 
Never  before  having  seen  Mrs.  Adams,  nee 
Trenton,  she  was  an  easy  victim. 

The  hotel  proprietor,  and  even  the  ser- 


vants, thought  very  strangely  of  Adams' 
selection  of  a  nurse,  and  still  more  strange- 
ly of  the  nurse  ;  but,  as  it  was  none  of  their 
business,  they  did  not  make  public  their 
wonderment. 

It  so  happened,  also,  that  neither  the 
landlord  nor  the  doctor  had  any  occasion  to 
converse  with  one  another  during  the  pe- 
riod of  Mrs.  Adams'  sickness,  and,  conse- 
quently, the  subterfuge  through  which  the 
services  of  Dolores  were  secured  was  not 
discovered. 

When  Dolores  entered  the  room,  she 
found  Mrs.  Adams  asleep,  so  she  sat  down 
by  a  window,  and  watched  the  still,  de- 
serted streets.  About  six  o'clock  Mrs. 
Adams  awoke,  and  Dolores  immediately 
presented  herself  at  the  bedside  and  in- 
quired concerning  her  condition. 

"  Oh,  I  feel  wretchedly  ! "  she  replied,  in 
a  subdued  and  resigned  tone.  "  I  think  I 
ought  to  take  another  dose  of  my  mixture, 
my  head  is  hurting  me  dreadfully." 

Dolores  offered  to  administer  the  medi- 
cine, and,  while  waiting  to  listen  to  the  pa- 
tient's 'enumerati(?Q  of  her  sufferings,  pressed, 
her  throbbing  temples,  and,  with  a  soft  and 
magical  touch,  exorcised  the  Demon  of 
Pain. 

"  Mrs.  Vaughn — I  think  I  understood 
Paul  to  say  that  was  your  name  ! — I  am 
sure  that  with  you  to  care  for  me  I  shall 
very  soon  get  well — your  touch  is  so  pleas- 
ant to  my  forehead," 

"  You  spoke  of  a  mixture !  "  said  the 
nuree,  making  no  direct  reply.  "  Has  the 
Doctor  prescribed  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dr.  McPherson  sent  me  some  med- 
icine last  night." 

"  Then  hadn't  you  better  continue  it  this 
morning  ?     Shall  I  prepare  you  a  dose  ?  " 

"  Thank  you !  The  vial  and  the  direc- 
tions are  on  the  mantle." 

Dolores  turned  away  to  get  ready  the 
dose.  In  a  few  seconds  she  returned  to  the 
bed  vrith  the  medicine  in  her  hand.  The 
sufferer  was  assisted  to  rise  from  a  recum- 
bent position ;  and  the  wineglass  was  ex- 
tended to  her  for  its  contents  to  be  gulped 
down.  She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  take 
it,  struck  it,  and  it  fell  broken  and  jingling 
upon  the  floor. 

Fate  had  palled  the  plot  op  the 
mxjkderer  ! 


144 


DOLORES. 


Mrs.  Susan  Adams  was  too  practical  to 
be  superstitious,  and  Dolores  was  too  intel- 
ligent. Consequently,  tliis  accident  did  not 
create  any  suspicion  of  foul  play. 

The  bell  was  rung.  A  servant  appeared. 
Another  glass  was  ordered  and  brought. 
The  mixture  was  taken,  and  the  sufl'erer 
laid  her  head  serenely  upon  the  pillow. 

Dolores  then  took  a  seat  by  the  bedside, 
as  before,  and  remained  an  hour  perform- 
ing the  gentle  ministrations  of  a  sick-room 
angel  with  unremitting  attentiveness.  By 
this  time  Mrs.  Adams  complained  of  feel- 
ing worse,  and  said  that  her  head  ached 
more  intensely  and  that  she  felt  more 
nausea. 

The  nurse's  arts  were  therefore  exerted 
more  zealously  than  ever,  and  until  eight 
o'clock  she  was  constantly  engaged  in  the 
endeavor  to  aflford  the  sufferer  relief. 

At  eight  the  patient  suggested  that  an- 
other dose  of  the  mixture  would  probably 
afford  some  mitigation  of  her  suffering. 
The  nurse  thought  so  too ;  and  gave  the 
medicine. 

Instead  of  any  visible  improvement  in 
Mrs.  Adams'  condition  being  effected,  how- 
ever, the  pain  and  nausea  increased  so  that 
she  could  not  eat  any  breakfast. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  third  dose  was  given. 
Now  Mrs.  Adams'  symptoms  became  so  dis- 
tressingly alarming  that  the  nurse  sent  in 
haste  for  Doctor  McPherson. 

The  Doctor  promptly  responded  to  the 
call.  He  found  that  the  patient  had  been 
vomiting  mucus  tinged  with  bile,  and  that 
she  complained  of  a  burning  pain  in  the 
pit  of  her  stomach.  He  gave  a  new  pre- 
scription, and  left  directions  for  a  poultice 
to  be  placed  on  the  patient's  abdomen,  and 
that  one  of  the  pills,  when  sent  from  the 
drug  store,  should  be  given  if  the  nausea 
was  relieved. 

The  prescription  was  as  follows : — 


R.  Sub :  Mur  :  Hyd  :    . 

•     gr.  X. 

Pulv :  Opii :     .     .     . 

.    gr.  iss 

Mix  :  pil.  No.  II. 

The  patient  grew  no  better  ;  and,  at 
three  o'clock  P.  M.,  the  physician  was  again 
called  in.  He  found  Mrs.  Adams  very  ill, 
and  prescribed  morphine.  Then,  desiring 
consultation  with  an  older  and  more  expe- 


rienced practitioner,  he  sent  for  Doctor  Ef- 
fingham. 

Dr.  Effingham  came.  He  found  Mrs. 
Adams  suffering  very  much  from  thirst, 
great  pain,  a  burning  sensation  in  the  pit 
of  her  stomach,  and  with  an  anxious  coun- 
tenance evincing  great  distress — besides  a 
feeble  pulse. 

Dr.  Effingham  caDed  Dr.  McPherson 
aside  and  abruptly  said  : 

"  It  is  too  late  to  do  her  any  good.  She 
will  die ! " 

"  Indeed !  So  serious.  Doctor  ?  "  rejoined 
McPherson.  "  What  do  you  attribute 
the " 

" ARSENIC!" 

"  Good  God,  Doctor,  you  don't  mean  to 
say  that  she  is ! " 

" Poisoned  !    YES !  " 

"  Oh,  my  husband — my  darling  husband, 
I  am  dying !  "  screamed  the  poor  lady,  who 
now  began  to  experience  that  sinking  sen- 
sation which  often  precedes  death,  and 
which  almost  invariably  gives  the  dying  a 
premonition  of  their  end.  "  Oh,  Paul,  my 
husband,  come  back — come  back  !  " 

"  My  dear  lady  !  "  said  Dr.  Effingham, 
approaching  the  sufferer  and  bending  over 
the  pillow,  speaking  in  a  gently  modulated 
voice.  "  My  dear  lady,  where  is  your  hus- 
band ?    He  shall  be  sent  for  immediately." 

"  He  has  gone  to  Raleigh  !  "  she  sobbed. 

"  Ah  !  that's  bad — very  bad !  "  mused  the 
physician.  "  Hadn't  you  better  send  for  a 
minister  ?  " 

"  A  minister  ?  "  echoed  LIrs.  Adams. 

"  Yes  ; — painful  as  the  intelligence  is, 
you  cannot  live  !  " 

"  Oh,  my  husband  —  my  husband !  " 
shrieked  the  dying  woman. 

"WTiat  is  her  husband's  name? — he 
must  be  sent  for.  Doctor !  "  said  Effingham, 
speaking  htirriedly  to  McPherson. 

"  Mr.  Trenton — I  do  not  know  his  Chris- 
tian name ! " 

'•  No,  no !  Not  that !  His  name  is 
PAUL  AD A:\IS  !  " 

Dolores  trembled,  became  ghastly  pale, 
looked  at  Effingham  viith.  a  beseeching 
ofaze,  and  then  daiied  towards  the  door. 
She  was  so  overwhelmed  with  shame  and 
indig-nation  at  finding  herself  entrapped 
into  that  room  that  her  entire  demeanor 
conveyed  an  impression  of  guilt.     Unfortu- 


DOLORES. 


145 


nate  action  !  It  immediately  aroused  sus- 
picion— The  very  astonishment  of  Inno- 
cence was  Ruin ! 

"  Stop  her,  McPherson  !  "  cried  Effing- 
ham, when  Dolores  rushed  towards  the 
door.  "  Stop  her  !  She  is  the  Murder- 
ess ! " 

"Murderess?  Did  you  say  Murderess, 
Doctor  Effingham  ?  You  lie,  Sir  —  you 
know  you  lie  !  " 

Saying  this  Dolores  swept  proudly  by  the 
excited  physician,  and  went  to  the  bedside 
of  her  husband's  other  wife. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  I  am  your  Mur- 
deress ?    He  says  I  am  !  " 

And  Dolores,  addressing  the  dying 
woman,  pointed  to  Effingham  with  a  ges- 
ture of  sublime  scorn. 

"No,  Mrs.  Vaughn!  No!"  was  the 
feeble  response.  "  Oh,  my  husband — my 
husband !  I  shall  die  without  seeing  my 
husband ! " 

"  I   fear "  said  Effingham,  who  had 

lost  his  habitual  self-command,  and  was 
now  beaten  by  a  tempest  of  excitement — 
"  I  fear  he  cannot  get  to  you  in  time.  Tou 
will  die  in  a  few  hours — die  from  poison 
administered  by  the  hand  of  Paul  Adarns' 
divorced  wife." 

"  Paul  Adams'  wife  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Susan 
Trenton  Adams. 

"  Tcs  !  "  exclaimed  the  Doctor. 

"  Where  ?  who  ?  "  was  the  agonized  cry. 

" THERE !  " 

"  Oh,  God  !  "  moaned  the  lady.  "  Oh  ! 
oh  !  oh  !  " 


CHAPTER  XH. 

„  Vkrxon  left  General  Carson's  office,  af- 
■  ter  the  interview  which  terminated  in  his 
being  convinced  that  it  would  be  foolish 
to  attempt  to  secure  satisfaction  for  the 
brutal  assault  made  upon  him  by  the  rhym- 
ing General,  he  was  resolved  upon  his 
course. 

For  some  time  he  had  been  wavering  be- 
tween an  inclination  to  return  to  the  South, 
and  an  indisposition  to  abandon  an  \mder- 
taking  that  he  had  essayed  against  the 
10 


counsel  of  his  friends, 
mined   to  go   back   to 


Now  he  was  deter- 
C town,  and   to 


wait  patiently  for  the  change  for  the  better, 
which  his  father's  letters  predicted.  Busi- 
ness, he  had  been  informed,  was  improving, 
litigation  was  increasing,  clients  paying 
more  promptly,  and  there  was  an  opening 
at  the  bar. 

He  walked  up  Broadway,  considering 
this  step,  and  determining  more  and  more 
resolutely  to  carry  it  into  execution.  He 
did  not  proceed  very  far,  however,  before 
he  discovered  that  which  his  excitement 
had  prevented  him  from  realizing— that  he 
had  been  seriously  injured  in  his  encounter 
with  General ,  and  that  he  was  grow- 
ing very  faint. 

Suddenly  the  buildings  whirled,  the  pe- 
destrians danced  in  the  air,  hackmen, 
horses,  wagons,  drivers,  omnibuses,  pave- 
ments, everything  in  inextricable  confusion 
circled  and  frolicked  around  his  head  ;  and 
he  fell  to  the  earth  like  a  stone,  heavy,  life- 
less, dumb.  He  had  fainted  from  the  ex- 
haustion occasioned  by  his  maltreatment. 

^\Tien  Vernon  again  became  conscious,  he 
found  himself  in  a  station  house,  surrounded 
by  several  policemen  who  were  kindly 
watching  over  him,  and  from  whom  he 
learned  that  he  had  been  brought  there  from 
the  street  by  an  officer  some  twenty  min- 
utes before,  and  that  the  Surgeon  had  been 
sent  for  to  attend  him. 

The  story  of  his  mishap  had  just  been 
concluded,  when  the  policemen  commenced 
to  fall  back  from  around  him  to  make  way 
for  a  visitor.  A  familiar  voice  greeted  his 
ear,  and  a  familiar  face  shone  upon  him. 
It  was  the  Surgeon  of  the  Station  House. 

"  Ha !  Vernon  !  "  said  this  person  in 
astonishment,  as  soon  as  he  got  close  enough 
to  behold  the  Southerner's  features, 
"  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here, 
old  fellow  ?  " 

"Vriiy  Doctor!"  responded  Vernon  in 
amazement,  "  I  really  believe  you  are  my 
Guardian  Angel ! " 

"  Dont  talk  too  much  !  don't  excite  your- 
self! 

"  I  fainted  in  the  street " 

" Stop  !     Let  me  cure  you  first — don't 

say  a  word !  I'll  pelt  you  to  death  with 
inquiries  when  I  get  you  well." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  I'm  all  right  now.    It's 


146 


DOLORES. 


only  a  fainting  spoil.  I  will  be  able  to  walk 
to  my  lodgings  in  a  few  minutes." 

"No,  no!"  rejoined  Doctor  Sangster. 
"I'll  take  you  home  witli  me — I  want 
you ! " 

"  Then  first  tell  me  what  you  are  doing 
here,  and  how  long  you  have  been  in  the* 
city." 

"  Ever  since  the  end  of  the  War,  I  have 
been  Surgeon  of  this  Precinct  Station." 

"  And  I  have  been  in  the  city  for  eight- 
een months,  and  haven't  known  it.  O  cruel 
Fortune  !  " 

"  Jack,  please  call  a  hack  !  "  to  a  police- 
man. "  Now,  Sir,  I  have  fairly  captured 
you,  and  you  must  go  home  with  me. 
There's  no  excuse  !  " 

When  the  carriage  arrived,  Vernon  ac- 
companied Dr.  Sangster  liomc.  He  was 
cordially  received  by  the  members  of  his 
host's  family,  and  agreeably  entertained  by 
them  for  several  days.  Ho  soon  recovered 
from  the  injuries  received  in  his  encounter 

with  General ,  and  in  his  fall  from 

fainting,  and,  in  a  couple  of  days,  was 
able  to  walk  about  the  house  without  dis- 
comfort. 

Doctor  Sangster's  duties  detained  him 
during  the  greater  part  of  every  day  at  the 
Station  House,  but  in  the  evenings  he  was 
at  home,  and  generally  in  a  talkati^je  mood, 
so  that  he  and  his  guest  had  many  smokes 
and  conversations  together,  and  became 
fonder  than  ever  of  each  other's  society. 

"  Now  that  the  South  has  been  subjugat- 
ed," said  the  Doctor,  the  night  before  Ver- 
non's departure  for  home,  during  one  of 
these  conversations  with  his  friend,  "  tell 
me,  what  are  your  views  of  disunion,  since 
you  have  had  time  for  calm  reflection  ?  " 

'•  My  opinions  are  entirely  unchanged, 
except  upon  one  point — the  South  is  not 
strong  enough  to  assert  its  rights.  In  ISGO 
I  thought  differently." 

"  Then  you  are  too  proud  to  confess  your 
error — too  proud  to  acknowledge  that  Se- 
cession was  wrong !  " 

"  No,  sir.  The  fact  that  bayonets  and 
balls  have  prevented  the  triumph  of  prin- 
ciples that  are  just  does  not  prove  them  to 
have  been  improperly  contended  for,  but 
merely  proclaims  1-hat  mankind  prefers  ei-- 
ror  to  truth.  The  South  was  right,  but  the 
South  was  weak  :    The  North  was  wrong. 


but  the  North  was  strong.  Physical  force, 
not  moral  worth,  decided  the  issue  of  the 
battle." 

"  Then  you  are  only  waiting  for  another 
opportunity  to  make  fight  for  disunion?  " 

"  Not  so  !  I  recognize  the  fact  that  the 
contest  for  States'  Eights  —  and  States' 
Rights  means  Southern  Interests — can  nev- 
er be  effectually  made  again  by  the  unaided 
South  ;  I  recognize  the  fact  that  the  insti- 
tution of  slavery  no  longer  exists,  and  that 
it  can  never  be  re-established  in  the  United 
States  ;  I  recognize  the  fact  that  the  dream 
of  a  Southern  Nationality  can  never  be 
realized,  and  that  it  would  be  unfortunate 
if  the  case  were  otherwise ;  and,  as  I  am 
not  able  to  leave  this  country,  I  am  pre- 
pared to  exchange  allegiance  for  protection, 
to  obey  the  reqvurements  of  existing  author- 
ity. I  have  not  been  convinced  ;  but  I  have 
been  subjugated.  I  shall  try  to  conciliate 
by  abject  submission  to  what  I  know  ia 
usui-pation.  I  am  prepared  to  be  an  unre 
sisting  slave  to  the  many  headed  tyrant 
that  rides  America,  except  in  one  thing 
— I  will  not  be  a  party  to  my  own  de- 
gradation, I  will  not  kiss  the  hand  that 
smites,  I  wiU  not  do  violence  to  my  con- 
science by  professing  to  think  that  black  ia 
white." 

"  Then  you  are  loyal  but  discontented !  " 

"  I  am  obedient  but  not  perjured !  " 

"  One  of  your  remarks  struck  me,  Ver- 
non— I  wish  you  would  explain  it.  You 
said  that  you  '  recognize  the  fact  that  the 
dream  of  a  Southern  Nationality  can  never 
be  realized,  and  that  it  would  be  unfortun- 
ate if  the  case  were  otherwise.'  Did  you 
mean  to  say  that  the  South  is  better  in  the 
Union  than  it  could  be  out  ?" 

"  Not  precisely.  I  hold  that  the  behavior 
of  a  very  considerable  portion  of  the 
Southern  people  since  the  end  of  the  war 
proves  theni  to  be  unfitted  for  self-govern- 
ment. In  this,  that  as  soon  as  they  were 
defeated  they  commenced  throwing  up 
their  hats  and  cheering  for  the  victors,  and 
evinced  as  much  fickleness,  cowardice,  and 
depravity  as  even  the  North." 

"  You  seem  to  be  disgusted  !  " 

"  Disgusted  !  The  word,  were  it  a  thou- 
sand times  stronger,  would  be  too  weak  and 
inadequate  for  the  expression  of  my  feel- 


mas  ! 


I  '■• 


DOLORES. 


147 


"  But  wliy  is  this  so  ?  " 

"  Wliy  ?  Because  defeat  lias  tauglit  me 
some  impressive  and  disagreeable  lessons. 
It  lias  tauglit  tliat  money  is  power — that 
imbecility  weaponed  with  wealth  is  too  for- 
midable an  antagonist  for  impecimious  in- 
tellect ;  it  has  taught  that  dishonesty  is 
held  in  higher  esteem  by  mankind  than 
spotless  virtue — that  patriotism's  only  re- 
ward is  the  contempt  of  the  cowards  in 
whose  behalf  its  deeds  of  devotion  are  en- 
acted ;  it  has  taught  me  that  success  is  the 
meed  of  villainy — that  reputation  is  the 
meed  of  success." 

"  But  why  do  you  grumble  ? — '  Endur- 
ance, you  know,  is  the  only  achiever  of 
good ! '  Why  not  take  the  world  as  it  is, 
and  fall  into  its  waj'S  ?  " 

The  Doctor  laughed,  as  he  spoke.  Ver- 
non looked  him  in  the  eye  and  discovered 
his  motive  for  such  a  question. 

"  Now,  Sangster,  don't  tease  me  !  I  feel 
what  I  say  too  earnestly — it  is  too  true  to 
be  turned  into  a  jest." 

"Well,  then,  I  wont!  But,  Vernon,  I 
would  like  to  know  what  it  is  that  restrains 
a  man  of  your  religious  creed,  and  prevents 
him  from  abandoning  the  paths  of  virtue 
utterly — is  it  a  respect  for  the  opinions  of 
your  fellows  ?  " 

"  No !  In  all  candor,  out  of  a  range  of 
acquaintance,  including  at  least  three  thou- 
sand persons,  in  addition  to  the  residents 
of  my  native  town,  I  do  not  know  of  more 
than  twenty  persons  for  whose  esteem,  con- 
fidence, good-^^-i]l~  and  opinions,  I  would 
turn  on  my  heel.  It  is  the  internal.  Moni- 
tor !  It  is  the  consciousness  of  right,  the 
sense  of  self-respect,  the  philanthropy  that 
is  inherent !  These — the  result  of  birth 
and  proper  home  education — restrain  from 
vice  ;  these  impel  to  virtue." 

Vernon  rose  and  smote  his  breast  with 
his  hand  when  he  uttered  this  response ; 
and  then  stalked  up  and  down  the  floor  in 
a  frenzy  of  enthusiasm. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  in  an  outburst  that  accom- 
panied this  action,  "  I  agree  with  Sheridan's 
Sir  Peter  Teazle  :  '  This  is  a  damned  wicked 
world ! '  The  poor  imbecile  who  is  de- 
pendent for  happiness  on  else  than  the  ap- 
plause of  his  own  conscience,  is,  indeed,  a 
pitiable  object.     The  world  is   so   full  of 


rascals  that  just  judgments  are  never 
reached.  A  man's  own  heart  is  the  only 
judge  that  will  do  him  impartial  justice, 
and  mete  out  condemnations  and  praises 
with  equal  fairness." 

"  You  are  bitter,  Vernon !  " 

"  No  :  I  am  severely  fair  !  I  was  young 
and  hopeful.  Then  I  believed  that  '  Hon- 
esty is  the  best  Policy.*  Now,  I  am  older 
and  more  experienced,  and  I  believe  the  re- 
verse. If  I  could  win  the  consent  of  my 
instincts,  I  should  turn  villain.  That  max- 
im would  no  longer  restrain  me — it's  my 
innate  promptings  that  prevent,  and  the 
delightful  sense  of  self-satisfaction." 

Vernon  sat  down,  the  fever  of  excitement 
gone. 

"  Must  you  leave  to-morrow  ?  Why  not 
stay  and  talk  these  matters  over  with  me 
for  at  least  another  week  ?  Do,  old  fel- 
low !  •' 

"  No,  Doctor.  I  am  very  thankful  that 
you  are  pleased  well  enough  with  my  poor 
company  to  desire  to  keep  me  ;  but  I  must 
go.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  I  am  need- 
ed at  home ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Vernon  took  the  cars  at  Jersey  City, 
and  travelled  without  stoppage,  night  or 
day,  until  he  reached  Raleigh.  There  he 
hired  a  private  conveyance ;  and,  in  com- 
pany with  a  yoimg  man  named  Davis,  set 

out  for  C town,  having  had  a  rest  of  six 

hours  before  starting. 

The  travellers  proposed  to  make  the  jour- 
ney in  an  afternoon  and  a  day,  and  drove 
out  from  Raleigh,  at  a  good  fast  trot.  After 
riding  about  ten  miles,  they  stopped  on  the 
roadside  to  go  to  a  spring  near  by  for  a 
drink  of  water,  and  as  they  walked  along 
the  little  footpath  into  the  woods,  Vernon's 
gaze  was  riveted  by  an  envelope,  addressed 
Paul  Adams,  Esq.,  Swift  Island,  N.  C.  He 
stooped,  picked  it  up,  and  walked  on 
through  the  bushes  towards  the  spring. 
He  had  taken  twenty  or  thirty  paces  more, 
when  he  noticed  a  broken  glass  bottle,  ou 


148 


DOLORES. 


one  of  the  pieces  of  ■which  was  pasted  a 
label : 


"  It  has  done  its  -work  !  "  involuntarily 
exclaimed  Vernon,  in  a  tone  loud  enough  for 
the  words  to  reach  the  ears  of  Davis. 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  arsenic  !  "  said  Vernon,  pointing 
to  the  broken  glass  and  its  label.  "  Here  is 
an  envelope  addressed  to  the  man  who  used 
it." 

As  they  passed  on  to  the  spring,  Vernon 
added :  "  Davis,  remember  this  circum- 
stance ;  but  say  nothing  about  it.  If  I  am 
not  mistaken  we  shall  hear  of  a  case  of 
poisoning  ere  long." 

Getting  the  water,  the  travellers  reseated 
themselves  in  the  buggy,  and  drove  until 
twilight,  when  they  halted  at  a  farm-house 
and  put  up  for  the  night. 

The  next  day  they  made  an  early  start 
and   drove    on    faster,   travelling    rapidly 

enough   to   reach  C town   an  hour  or 

more  before  the  ringing  of  the  sundown 
bell. 

When  they  entered  the  town  they  soon 
perceived  that  something  tmusual  had  hap- 
pened. Knots  of  men  and  women  were 
congregated  in  various  places,  talking  ve- 
hemently, and  gesticulating  excitedly.  The 
words  "coroner's  jury,"  "diabolical  deed," 
"  infamous  wretch  !  "  "  she  ought  to  be 
hung,"  uttered  indignantly,  indicated,  as 
they  reached  the  ears  of  the  travellers,  a 
commotion  of  unusual  nature. 

As  they  advanced  farther  into  the  centre 
of  the  town  the  crowds  grew  larger,  and 
seemed  to  be  wrought  up  to  a  higher  pitch 
of  feeling  than  those  first  encountered; 
and  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall  there  was  an 
eager  throng  which  looked  as  if  it  was 
waiting  with  impatience  for  some  move- 
ment from  the  inside. 

Vernon  noticed  all  this,  before  he  over- 
took any  one  from  whom  he  could  ascertain 


the  cause  of  all  this  perturbation.  At 
length,  however,  he  espied  Jock  Wright  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd. 

"  How  are  you,  Jock  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Why,  Roland !  Where  did  you  drop 
from — the  clouds  ?  " 

"  Just  from  New  York,  Jock !  Tell  me 
what  all  this  means  ? " 

"  Ah  !  Then  you  haven't  heard  about  it. 
Paul  Adams'  wife  poisoned,  and  Dolores, 
his  divorced  wife,  arrested  on  the  charge  of 
murder.  Roland,  I  never  thought  her  ca- 
pable of  such  an  atrocious  deed  !  " 

"  Then  you  believe  she  did  it !  " 

"Yes.  Everybody  does.  Not  a  lawyer 
in  the  place  will  appear  for  her — not  one  !  " 

"  My  father  too— he  believes  it?  " 

"  No.    He  is  out  of  town." 

"  Well,  what  has  been  done  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  The  Magistrate's  Examina- 
tion is  going  on  now.  The  Coroner's  Jury 
has  found  a  verdict — death  by  poison,  ar- 
senic, administered  by  Dolores  Vaughn 
Adams." 

"  Good  God !  Where  are  the  Magis- 
trates ?    Be  quick — tell  me  !  " 

"  In  there  !  "  said  Jock,  pointing  to  the 
Town  Hall. 

Without  another  word,  Vernon  elbowed 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  bounded  up 
the  steps,  entered  the  hall,  advanced  to  the 
table,  and  approached  the  prisoner. 

"  Dolores !  " 

She  was  weeping ;  but  at  the  utterance  of 
her  name  she  looked  up,  recognized  her 
friend,  and  cried : 

"  Thank  God !  You  are  here  to  save  me 
again !  " 

"  I  appear  for  the  prisoner !  " 

The  magistrates  were  overwhelmed  with 
wonder  at  this  apparition. 

"Before  proceeding  farther  please  have 
the  testimony  read — I  demand  this  as  my 
right ! " 

With  an  amazed  glare  of  despair,  Ver- 
non listened  to  the  logical  and  invincible 
chain  of  circumstances  arrayed  against 
Dolores.  The  evidence  was  such  tha^t  the 
magistrates  were  compelled  to  commit  her, 
and  forced  to  refuse  bail. 

Still,  Vernon  knew  her  to  be  innocent. 
He  had  the  proof  in  his  pocket.  But  un- 
fortunately, while  it  was  satisfactory  to  his 
own  mind,  it  Avould  not  convince  others. 


DOLORES. 


149 


When  the  testimony  was  all  taken,  the 
order  for  commitment  was  made,  and  the 
Sheriff  took  possession  of  the  body  of  the 
prisoner. 

Dolores  wept  violently,  and  called  upon 
Vernon  for  protection. 

"  I  believe,  I  know  you  are  innocent, 
Dolores,"  said  he  in  response,  "  but  you  will 
have  to  go  to  jail.  I  will  work  night  and 
day  to  secure  your  deliverance,  to  punish 
the  guilty.  Shed  no  tears — rely  on  me — 
you  shall  have  justice  !  " 

"  Hang  her  !  "  "  Lynch  her  !  "  cried  the 
crowd  outside. 


Dolores    shuddered,    and    wept-  afresh. 

"  Don't  fear  them — they  shall  not  molest 
you !  " 

"  But  your  mother,  Alice,  all  my  friends 
— do  they  doubt  me — do  they  believe  that 
I  murdered  her?  Will  they  desert  and 
persecute  me  1 " 

"  No  !  They  shall  believe  in  your  inno- 
cence— they  shall  come  to  you — they  shall 
be  true  women — they  shall  shame  this 

ACCTJESED  MOB  THAT  IS  CRYING  FOR  YOUR 
BLOOD  !  " 


I 


BOOK   VI. 


CHAPTER    I. 

When  Roland  Vernon  bade  Dolores  fare- 
well at  the  prison  door,  and  walked  away 
towards  Rushbrook  to  rejoin  his  family, 
from  wliicli  he  had  been  so  long  parted,  his 
mind  was  greatly  disturbed  with  the  appre- 
hension that  they  believed  her  to  be  guilty. 

The  death  of  Mrs.  Adams  occurred  on  the 
29th  of  December,  and  now  it  was  the  5th 
of  January,  and  during  the  interval  none 
of  them  had  visited  Dolores.  If  they  were 
not  affected  by  the  public  clamor  that  al- 
ready condemned  the  forlorn  prisoner,  why 
had  they  kept  away  during  the  week  of  dis- 
tress ?  This  question,  which  he  asked 
himself  again  and  again,  worried  him  all 
the  way  home  ;  and  he  began  to  fear  that 
he  would  have  to  stand  alone  in  the  asser- 
tion of  her  innocence.  But  these  antici- 
pations were  alarming  him  and  annoying 
him  needlessly. 

When  Roland  reached  Rushbrook,  and 
stood  in  the  library  with  his  mother  and 
wife  and  mother-in-law  crowding  around 
him,  while  he  held  his  youngest  boy  in  his 
arms,  and  looked  down  smiling  upon  his 
eldest  born,  as  soon  as  the  kisses  of  wel- 
come, and  the  greetings  of  affection  were 
over,  he  learnt  from  them  as  a  piece  of 
news  that  Mrs.  Adams  had  been  poisoned, 
that  Dolores  had  been  arrested,  that  they 
bad  unfalteringly  persevered  in  their  belief 
of  her  guiltlessness,  and  had  anxiously 
awaited  Colonel  Vernon's  return  to  secure 
his  permission  to  go  to  their  mercilessly 
persecuted  friend,  and  assure  her  of  their 
continued  love,  their  unswerving  faith  in 
her  innocence. 


After  telling  him  this,  Alice  pleadingly 
said  : 

"  I  went  to  the  Cottage  tlie  very  day  Dol- 
ores was  arrested  and  brought  the  children 
away.  They  are  here  now,  Roland  ;  and  I 
hope  you  will  not  be  angry.  I  always 
loved  Dolores,  and,  even  if  she  is  guilty, 
surely  there  can  be  no  harm  in  taking  care 
of  her  poor  little  children  !  Mother  did  not 
object  and  Ma  approved — I  trust  you  will 
not  censure  me !  " 

The  water  rushed  into  Roland's  eyes  aa 
he  bent  down  and  drew  the  head  of  his  wife 
up  to  his  face ;  and, kissing  her  approvingly, 
he  muttered : 

"  ^ly  noble  Alice  !  Always  dear — very 
dear ;  but  now  more  precious  than  ever,  be- 
caiise  sweeter  and  holier  hj  your  abundant 
love  and  charity." 

"  Then  you  will  not  object  to  my  going 
to  see  Dolores  !  You  have  not  told  us  yet 
what  you  think,  whether  you  believe  that 
she  poisoned  the  woman. — Please  do  not 
destroy  my  faith  in  Dolores  by  saying, 
Yes ! " 

"  I  believe  her  Guilty  ?  How  could  you 
imagine  such  a  thing  possible?  I  have 
just  come  from  her,  and  I  promised  her  that 
you — all  of  you — should  go  to  her.  WiU 
you  go  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Certainly  we  wUl !  "  quickly  responded 
Roland's  mother.  "I  know  your  father 
will  not  censure  us  for  doing  anything  that 
you  sanction." 

Alice  and  her  mother  echoed  Mrs.  Ver- 
non's assent.  ♦ 

"  We  have  felt  miserably,  and  have 
feared  that  Dolores  would  think  that  we  in- 
tend to  desert  her ;  but  then  for  ladies  to 


DOLOBES. 


151 


go  alone,  and  brave  public  opinion — that 
would  not  liavebeen  proper  !  "  added  Mrs. 
Vernon,  after  it  was  arranged  that  Roland 
should  escort  them  to  the  jail  on  the  mor- 
row. 

The  next  day — Tuesday — the  Vernons 
carried  Dolores'  children  with  them  \o  the 
prison,  and  were  admitted  to  the  cell  of  the 
distressed  and  wronged  lady,  introducing 
with  them  the  only  hope  and  comfort  that 
she  had  experienced  since  the  murdered 
woman's  last  words  rang  in  her  ears. 

"  Ah !  Let  the  worst  come  now,"  sobbed 
Dolores,  when  assured  of  their  confidence, 
"  and  I  can  bear  my  fate  resignedly  !  Since 
my  noble  friends  refuse  to  trust  the  ap- 
pearances that  seem  to  condemn  me,  since 
they  do  not  desert  me  because  I  am  unfor- 
timate,  I  can  brave  even  Death !  " 

"  How  could  we  for  a  moment  falter, 
Dolores  ?  You,  always  so  tender-hearted, 
BO  womanly  ;  I  would  as  soon  doubt  Alice !'' 
said  Mrs.  Vernon,  warmly. 

"  Yes ! "  cried  Alice,  echoing  the  senti- 
ment of  faith  so  firmly  expressed.  "  How 
could  we,  especially  when  Roland  says  he 
has  proof  that  will  clear  you.  You  will  be 
acquitted,  Dolores !  —  Will  she  not,  Ro- 
land ? " 

"  I  hope  so,  wife!  But,  Dolores,  I  will  be 
candid — there  is  great  danger,  and  you 
must  be  prepared  for  anything.  I  know 
facts  that  will  acquit  you,  if  I  can  prove 
them  to  the  Jury.  But  there  is  the  doubt. 
I  will  do  all  that  is  possible — but  the  ar- 
senic that  you  bought  from  Edmonds  is  a 
stubborn  circumstance." 

"  I  didn't  open  it !  "  observed  Dolores. 

"  Do  you  know  where  it  is  ?  "  asked  Ver- 
non. 

"  Yes.  In  my  pantry  cupboard,  on  the 
top  shelf,  in  a  bottle,  wrapped  in  brown 
paper.  It  was  corked  and  sealed  by  Mr. 
Bangs,  and  the  seal  has  never  been 
broken." 

"  Indeed  !  I  must  get  it — you  may  yet 
destroy  every  presumption  of  guUt." 

'■■  How  ?  "  eagerly  asked  all  the  ladies  in 
one  breath. 

"  By  proving  that  the  bottle  has  never 
been  opened ;  which  can  be  done  by  Bangs' 
testimony." 

"Oh,  but  he's  gone!"  cried  Dolores. 
"  He  was  frightened  when  I  was  arrested  ; 


and,  thinking  that  he  could  be  punished  for 
selling  me  the  arsenic,  he  went  away — to 
Texas,  I  believe  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  this,  Dolores  ?  " 

"  I  heard  Mr.  Edmonds  telling  Doctor 
EflBngham  that  Mr.  Bangs  had  left  with- 
out any  notice  ;  and  he  said  that  he  pre- 
sumed that  was  the  reason.  The  Doc- 
tor asked  him  if  he  knew  where  Mr.  Bangs 
had  gone,  and  he  replied  that  he  thought 
he  had  made  for  Texas." 

"  I  must  have  him  back  at  any  cost.  He, 
and  he  only,  can  save  your  life  !  " 

Vernon  now  became  impatient  to  make 
further  inquiries  concerning  Bangs,  so  he 
suggested  to  the  ladies  that  they  had  better 
depart ;  and,  promising  Dolores  to  visit  her 
frequently,  they  bade  her  farewell  and  re- 
turned to  Rushbrook. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Veuxon  continued  to  visit  Dolores  during 
her  imprisonment,  being  accompanied  very 
often  by  his  Avife,  or  mother,  or  the  widow 
Adams  ;  and  thus  the  mouths  of  incarcera- 
tion until  the  session  of  the  Superior  Court 
at  which,  iu  all  probability,  she  would  be 
tried,  were  made  to  glide  by  as  i^leasantly 
as  possible  to  a  person  of  Dolores'  despond- 
ent tem])erament. 

In  the  mean\vhile  Colonel  Vernon  re- 
turned, reaching  C town  about  a  week 

after  Roland's  arrival,  and,  as  was  antici- 
pated by  his  son,  he  entered  heartily  into 
the  work  of  preparing  the  defense  of  the 
prisoner,  devoting  much  of  his  time  to  a 
review  of  his  reading  in  Medical  Jurispru- 
dence, to  searches  for  decisions  and  the 
other  necessary  information  to  a  thorough 
investigation  of  the  law  and  facts  of  the 
important  case  which  his  son  had  under- 
taken and  in  the  trial  of  which  he  was  to 
assist. 

From  the  declarations  of  Dolores,  and 
from  the  statements  of  Roland,  Col.  Vernon 
was  convinced  that  the  proofs  existed,  if 
they  could  be  rendered  available,  which 
would  secure  an  acquittal  of  the  accused  ; 
but  he  saw  only  a  very  poor  chance  of  ob- 


152 


DOLORES, 


taining  this  evidence  in  time  to  employ  it 
in  the  trial,  unless  a  continuance  of  the 
case  could  be  obtained.  And  this  he  feared 
would  be  impossible  ;  inasmuch  as  it  would 
be  necessary  to  assume  a  great  deal  to  be 
true  which  was  uncertain,  in  order  to  make 
the  affidavit  necessary  to  procure  such  a 
disposition  of  the  case  when  once  set  for 
trial. 

Dr.  Brown,  who  sold  Adams  arsenic  while 
clerking  for  Hegeman,  had  changed  his  lo- 
cation since  Roland  had  last  met  with  him, 
and  no  trace  of  him  was  to  be  found  ;  so 
that  this  very  important  rebutting  circum- 
stance could  not  be  proved.  Roland  knew 
the  same  fact,  but  he  feared  that  he  would 
be  prevented  from  testifying  on  the  ground 
of  a  want  of  religious  belief,  and  he  was 
averse  to  giving  an  opportuntity  for  the 
suggestion  of  such  an  objection  to  his  testi- 
mony. Courtuay  was  also  cognizant  of  this 
purchase,  but  since  his  breach  with  Ver- 
non, his  whereabouts  were  unknown,  and, 
besides,  Roland  apprehended  that  he  would 
refuse  to  testify  out  of  mere  personal  spite. 
Unless  this  circumstance  could  be  estab- 
lished, the  Ending  of  the  broken  bottle  on 
the  roadside  near  Raleigh,  and  the  envelope 
addressed  to  Adams,  would  lose  significance, 
and  the  counter-presumption  would  fall 
through  for  want  of  the  single  link  in 
the  chain  of  circumstances,  which  Brown 
could  prove  to  exist,  if  he  could  be  brought 
to  the  witness  stand.  Therefore,  Brown's 
absence  was  a  serious  matter  to  Dolores. 

Then,  wliUe  this  chance  would  be  thus 
lost,  unless  Bangs  could  be  brought  back  to 

C town,  the  other  counter-presumption, 

growing  oat  of  the  sealing  of  the  bottle  of 
arsenic  purchased  by  Dolores,  could  not  be 
rendered  available. 

These  matters  were  canvassed  by  the 
Vernons,  and  as  they  were  considered  more 
fully,  the  despair  of  the  lawyers  intensified. 

"  I  confess  that  I  fear  the  result,  my  son," 
said  Col.  Vernon,  when  the  difficulties  of 
the  case  were  fully  realized.  "  I  see  no 
gbmmer  of  hope." 

"  We  must  not  despond — we  must  do 
what  we  can !  "  replied  Roland. 

"  But  what  can  we  do  1  There's  the 
trouble !  If  you  can  suggest  any  plan  to 
secure  the  attendance  of  Brown  or  Bangs, 
we  will  obtain  a  verdict  of  acquittal  easily." 


"  Then  I  say  advertise  for  Brown  in  the 
New  York  papers  ;  and  advertise  in  Texas 
for  Bangs." 

"  But,  suppose  they  should  see  the  adver- 
ments,  they  might  neither  have  the  in- 
clination nor  the  means  to  come,"  observed 
the  Colonel. 

'•  Oh,  that  I  never  thought  of  till  now !  " 
exclaimed  Roland,  with  a  start.  "  But  if  I 
had  five  thousand  dollars  I  could  overcome 
even  that  obstacle." 

"  How  ? "  asked  the  father. 

"  I  would  place  five  hundred  dollars  in 
Silver  tongue's  hands  subject  to  Brown's  or- 
der ;  advertise  for  him  in  all  of  the  promi- 
nent Eastern  papers,  and  offer  two  thou- 
sand dollars  reward  for  his  attendance  on 
the  March  term  of  our  Court,  and  notify 
him  to  draw  on  Silvertongue  for  the  means 
to  travel  here.  For  two  thousand  dollars, 
he  could  afford  to  come,  no  matter  how  ur- 
gent the  engagements  detaining  him.  Then 
I  would  place  a  like  amount  in  the  hands  of 
some  Galveston  lawyer,  and  insert  a  similar 
advertisement  in  all  the  Texas  papers, 
which  would  probably  bring  Bangs.  A 
smaller  sum  might  do ;  but  I  think  five 
thousand  dollars  would  make  the  matter 
certain." 

"  The  sum  must  be  raised  ! "  said  the 
Colonel,  rising  from  his  seat.  "  But  how  ? 
I  have  no  such  amount,  and  no  property 
from  which  it  can  be  realized.  Stop !  I'll 
get  your  mother  to  mortgage  Rushbrook  !  " 

"  But  I  should  not  like  to  ask  her  to  do 
that  for  me.  No,  no !  Some  other  plan 
must  be  resorted  to !  "  replied  Roland. 

"  For  you/  Why  it's  not  for  you.  It's 
for  Dolores — it's  for  Sam  Vaughn's  daugh- 
ter.    rU  ask  her  ;  I'll  get  the  money !  " 

And,  saying  this.  Col.  Vernon  took  his 
hat  and  started  homewards  immediately, 
unwilling  to  delay,  for  a  moment,  a  step 
which  he  hoped  would  result  favorably 
for  the  persecuted  child  of  his  boyhood's 
friend. 

When  the  Colonel  stated  the  case  to  his 
wife,  she  consented  without  hesitation  to 
the  alienation  of  her  homestead.  It  Avas 
to  defend  innocence,  and  to  prove  the  de- 
votion of  true  friendship  ;  and  Mrs.  Vernon 
was  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  such 
a  cause. 

The  money  was  raised  without  further 


DOLORES. 


153 


difficulty,  and  the  suggestion  of  Roland  car- 
'      ried  out  immediately. 
'  Then  the  lawyers  and  their  client  wait- 

»ed  impatiently  for  tidings  from  Brown  and 
Bangs. 


CHAPTER   III. 

What  has  become  of  Belle  Woodruff? 
Has  her  lot  been  happy  or  wretched  ?  Has 
she  had  the  fruition  of  her  hopes,  or  does 
she  pine  with  disappointment  ?  Did  she 
many  Jock  Wright  ?  Or  is  she  slumbering 
with  the  dead  ? 

0  reader !  these  inquiries  of  thine  are 
most  pertinent ;  and  thy  forbearance,  if 
thou  hast  really  trudged  on  this  far  with- 
out railing  at  the  writer  of  these  chroni- 
cles, is  deeply  gratifying  to  the  editor.  He 
is  overwhelmed  with  regret  and  overpow- 
ered with  penitence  that  he  should  have 
behaved  so  unworthily  and  ungallantly 
towards  her,  whose  self-sacrificing  love 
saved  Vernon  from  insanity,  and  gave  Alice 
a  noble  husband. 

Belle  still  lives.  Her  life  has  been  check- 
ered with  vicissitudes,  some  happiness, 
some  wretchedness.  In  several  respects  the 
promises  of  young  womanhood  have  been 
realized  in  maturity  ;  but  she  is  not  yet  the 
wife  of  jolly  Jock  Wright. 

There  at  the  Meadows,  keeping  her  place 
at  the  head  of  her  father's  table,  presiding 
over  the  household,  as  she  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  do  since  she  lost  her  mother  at 
thirteen,  she  lives  her  lonely  life  of  maid- 
enhood, not,  however,  without  looking  for- 
ward to  a  change  in  her  condition,  and 
wistfully  waiting  for  the  turn  of  Fortune's 
wheel,  which  is  to  enable  the  man  to  whom 
her  promise  is  plighted  to  demand  her  for 
his  wife. 

There,  at  the  Meadows,  she  frets  and 
worries  all  day  with  the  servants  and  other 
domestic  pests  ;  passes  her  time  in  trying  to 
make  her  father  as  happy  as  he  can  be, 
now  that  he  has  to  struggle  with  adversity, 
since  the  destruction  of  wealth,  by  the  inva- 
sion of  Sherman,  has  altered  his  financial 
state. 


There,  at  the  Meadows,  sitting  on  the 
steps  at  evening,  where  in  pleasanter,  more 
joyous  times  she  so  often  used  to  weave  her 
innocent  reveries  of  the  future,  she  builds 
air-castles,  or  dreams  of  the  past. 

There,  indomitable  but  unfortunate  Jock 
still  joins  her,  whispering  to  her  in  the 
starlight,  confiding  his  hoi^es,  and  feeding 
the  flame  of  love  that  he  expects  to  illumi- 
nate his  home — some  of  these  days. 

But  for  the  War,  and  its  accidents,  Belle 
would  long  since  have  launched  upon  the 
uncertain  sea  of  matrimony.  But  when 
Jock  returned  from  his  long  imprisonment 
from  which  he  was  delivered,  it  will  be 
recollected,  through  Vernon's  influence,  for 
certain  prudential  reasons,  the  wedding 
was  postponed.  Then  the  calamities  of 
defeat  intervened,  and  times  continued  to 
grow  worse  and  prospects  became  darker, 
so  that  now  they  seem  to  be  quite  as  far 
from  the  goal  of  their  desires  as  they  were 
five  years  ago.  But  they  are  not ;  for,  de- 
spite their  own  apprehensions  and  the  indi- 
cations from  which  they  j  udge,  better  luck 
is  in  store  for  brave,  cheerful  Jock  Wright. 

In  her  moments  of  reflection.  Belle  thinks 
upon  the  whole  that  she  has  been  more  for- 
tunate than  either  Dolores  or  Alice,  although 
they  both  got  married  and  she  is  still  an 
old  maid.  She  has  had  no  such  sore  trials 
as  those  to  which  they  have  been  sub- 
jected. 

As  for  Jock,  he  declares,  with  good-hu- 
mored positiveness,  that  he  would  not 
change  places  with  Roland  Vernon  for  tho 
world ;  and,  now  and  then,  just  to  keep 
his  courage  up,  he  quotes  Hamlet — 

"Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well 

W  lien  our  r'jep  plots  do  pall:  and  that  should  teach 

us, 
There's  a  Divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will." 

General  Woodruff,  smce  the  night  that 
he  and  Morrisson  exchanged  compliments 
over  the  card-table,  in  the  Eagle  Hotel,  the 
night  that  the  General  rushed  by  Judge 
Richards  and  made  tracks  for  the  Meadows, 
has  been  a  perfectly  temperate  man,  and, 
in  a  great  degree,  has  regained,  by  his  in- 
dustry and  application  as  a  lawyer,  the  high 
standing  which  his  dissipation  had  lost. 

\Vhen  Belle  heard  of  the  arrest  of  Dolores 


154 


DOLORES. 


slie  protested  her  disbelief  of  the  foul  charge 
against  her  friend,  and  asked  her  father's 
permission  to  go  to  her  and  offer  sympathy, 
which  he  firmly  refused  to  accord. 

"  Why,  Belle,  there's  not  a  shadow  of 
doubt  of  her  guilt,"  said  he,  when  she  per- 
sisted in  her  request.  •'  I  have  never 
known  a  more  perfect  connection  between 
motive  and  act  than  is  established  by  the 
circumstances  of  this  case.  She  is  certain- 
ly guilty ;  and  you  cannot  visit  a  mur- 
deress ! " 

"  But  I  learn  that  both  of  the  Vernons 
think  that  she  is  innocent,  and  say  that 
she  is  persecuted.  Alice,  Mrs.  Vernon,  and 
Mrs.  Adams  have  been  to  see  her ;  and  I 
see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  go,"  she  re- 
plied, with  great  earnestness. 

"  Even  if  she  were  innocent,  my  daugh- 
ter, there  is  one  very  good  reason  why  you 
should  not  visit  her — I  have  been  retained 
by  the  relatives  of  the  murdered  lady  to  as- 
sist Morrisson  in  the  prosecution.  What 
would  the  world  think  of  me,  if  I  prosecuted 
a  woman,  who,  while  in  jail,  awaiting  trial, 
was  being  visited  by  my  own  daughter  ? "' 

"  Oh,  father !  And  you  are  going  to  assist 
in  the  effort  to  take  Dolores'  life '? "  cried 
Belle  with  a  shudder. 

"  No  !  I  am  going  to  assist  in  having  jus- 
tice done.     That's  all." 

"  But  Mr.  Morrisson  is  the  State's  Attor- 
ney—why do  you  not  leave  that  to  him.  It 
is  his  duty." 

"  Oh,  I  get  a  large  fee,  and " 

" And   for  the   '  blood  money  '  you 


will  do  violence    to  every  instinct  of  hu- 
manity.    Oh,  father ! " 

"  Just  like  a  woman — you  can  never  see 
anything  in  the  right  light.  The  Law 
commands  certain  things  not  to  be  done, 
and  imposes  penalties  for  the  violation  of 
its  commands.  To  award  these  penalties 
when  merited,  courts  are  established.  To 
enable  courts  to  dispense  justice,  trials  are 
ordained,  and  forms  of  trial  are  prescribed. 
Trials  are  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining 
facts,  applying  the  law,  and  pronouncing 
judgment.  The  court  pronounces  the  judg- 
ment and  is  responsible.  The  counsel  is  a 
person  skilled  in  the  art  of  investigating 
truth,  versed  in  a  knowledge  of  the  rules  of 
evidence,  and  learned  in  the  provisions  of 


the  law.  His  duty  is  to  assist  the  court  by 
preventing  the  introduction  of  improper 
testimony,  by  exposing  mistake  or  perj  ury, 
and  by  pointing  out  wherein  the  law  does, 
and  wherein  it  does  not,  apply.  Their  re- 
sponsibility is  unlike  that  of  a  court — they 
are  only  expected  to  employ  their  skill  and 
knowledge  in  the  examination  of  witnesses 
and  in  argument.  The  court  has  to  do 
more — it  has  to  decide  what  is  true  and 
what  is  just." 

"  That  would  be  a  very  excellent  defense 
of  your  action,  but  for  one  th'mg,"  retorted 
Belle. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  inquired  the  General. 

"  It's  not  true  !  "  she  responded  with  ear- 
nestness. ''  The  lawyer's  duty  is  set  forth 
fairly  enough  in  your  plea  ;  but  what  is  the 
lawyer's  practice?  He  takes  a  fee,  not  in 
the  interest  of  truth,  but  in  the  interest  of 
his  client.  He  contracts  to  pervert  truth  ; 
to  prostitute  his  skill  and  learning  to  the 
base  purposes  of  vengeance,  or  guiltliness, 
or  selfishness.  That  is  the  Practice,  what- 
ever may  be  the  Theory  !  " 

"Belle,  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about — hush  !  One  thing  is  settled, 
I  assist  Morrisson  to  prosecute ;  and,  there- 
fore, you  must  not  hold  any  communication 
with  that  woman." 

"Very  well,  sir!  If  you  command,  I 
must  submit.  But  I  don't  believe  that 
Dolores  is  guilty  ;  and,  if  you  convict  her, 

I  shall  thenceforth  regard  you  as  a " 

" What  ?  "      impatiently    growled 


Woodruff. 

"  A  very  heartless  man  !  To  persecute  a 
poor  broken-hearted  woman  —  I  never 
thought  you  were  so  cruel ! " 

And  Belle  stole  away  to  her  chamber  to 
hide  her  tears. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Spring  Term  of  the  Superior  Court 

for  the  County  of  C ,  was  held  at  the 

Court  House  in  C town  on  Monday,  the 

17th  day  of  March,  1868.    His  Honor"  Rob- 
ert Ashe,  Judge,  presided. 


DOLORES. 


loo 


At  11  o'clock  A.  M.,  the  Judge  took  his 
seat  upon  the  bench,  and  the  Sheriflf"  made 
proclamation. 

The  Grand  Jury  was  soon  empanelled  ; 
and  Judge  Ashe  then  delivered  the  charge. 
(He  -will  be  recognized  by  the  reader  as  the 
same   Robert   Ashe   who   commanded  the 

F th  N.  C.   Troops,   at  Williamsburg, 

Sharpsburg,  and  elsewhere).  The  charge 
was  a  forcible  exposition  of  the  criminal 
code  of  the  State,  and  was  characterized  by 
all  the  ability  and  learning  of  the  distin- 
guished Jurist  from  whose  lips  it  fell.  On 
the  subject  of  Homicide  it  was  explicit, 
clear,  and  powerful ;  and  very  convincing 
to  the  Jury  to  whom  it  was  directed. 

The  following  bill  of  indictment  was 
presented  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morn- 
ing:— 

State  of  North  Caholina, 
couktt  of  c . 

At  a  Superior  Court  of  Law  begun  and 

held  for  the  County  of  C ,  at  the  Court 

House  m  C town,  on  the  fifth  Monday 

after  the  Second  Monday  in  February,  in 
the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  sixty-eight. 

The  Jurors  for  the  State  upon  their  oath 
present,  that  Dolores  Adams,  alias  Vaughn, 

of  the  county  of  C ,  not  having  the  fear 

of  God  before  her  eyes,  but  being  moved 
and  seduced  by  the  instigation  of  the  Devil, 
and  of  her  malice  aforethought,  contriving 
and  intending  one  Susan  Adams  in  the 
peace  of  God,  and  of  the  State,  then  and 
there  being  in  her  lifetime,  to  deprive  of 
her  life,  and  her  feloniously  to  kill  and 
murder,  on  the  twenty-ninth  day  of  Decem- 
ber, in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  sixty-seven,  with  force 

and  arms  at  and  in  the  county  of  C 

aforesaid,  did  knowingly,  wUlfully,  feloni- 
ously, and  of  her  malice  aforethought,  mix 
and  mingle  certain  deadly  poison,  to  wit 
white  arsenic,  in  a  certain  medicinal  prepa- 
ration, to  wit.  Chloroform  Mixture,  which 
had  been  on  the  28th  day  of  December  in 
the  year  aforesaid  prepared  for  the  use  of 
the  said  Susan  Adams,  to  be  drunk  by  her 
the  said  Susan  Adams,  she,  the  said  Dolo- 
res Adams,  alias  Vaughn,  then  and  there 
well  knowing  that  the  said  medicinal  pre- 
paration with  which  she  the  said  Dolores 


Adams,  alias  Vaughn,  did  so  mix  and  min- 
gle the  said  deadly  poison  as  aforesaid,  was 
then  and  there  prepared  for  the  use  of  the 
said  Susan  Adams,  with  the  intent  to  be 
then  and  there  administered  to  her  for  her 
drinking  the  same,  and  the  said  medicinal 
preparation,  with  which  the  said  poison 
was  so  mixed  as  aforesaid,  afterwards,  to 
wit,  on  the  said  twenty-ninth  day  of  Decem- 
ber in  the  year  aforesaid,  was  placed  by  the 
said  Dolores  Adams,  alias  Vaughn,  in  the 
Eagle  Hotel,  a  tavern  in  the  said 
C town,  and  county  and  State  afore- 
said, which  was  occupied  by  her,  the  said 
Susan  Adams,  there  to  be  then  and  there 
drunk  by  her ;  and  the  said  Susan  Adams 
(not  knowing  the  said  poison  to  have  been 
mixed  with  the  said  medicinal  preparation) 
did  afterwards,  to  wit,  on  the  twenty-ninth 
day  of  December,  in  the  year  aforesaid, 
there  drink  and  swallow  down  into  her 
body  several  quantities  of  the  said  poison 
so  mixed  as  aforesaid  with  the  said  medi- 
cinal preparation,  and  the  said  Susan 
Adams  of  the  poison  aforesaid  and  by  the 
operation  thereof,  then  and  there  became 
sick  and  greatly  distempered  in  her  body, 
of  which  said  sickness  and  distemper  of 
body  occasioned  by  the  said  drinking,  tak- 
ing and  swallowing  down  into  the  body  of 
her  the  said  Susan  Adams,  of  the  poison 
aforesaid  so  mixed  and  mingled  into  the 
said  medicinal  preparation  as  aforesaid, 
she,  the  said  Susan  Adams,  on  the  said 
twenty-ninth  day  of  December,  in  the  year 
aforesaid,  on  which  she  had  so  taken,  drank 
and  swallowed  down  the  same  as  aforesaid, 
at  and  in  the  county  of  C afore- 
said, did  languish,  and  languishing  did 
live ;  on  which  said  twenty-ninth  day  of 
December  in  the  year  aforesaid,  at  and  in 

the  county  of  C aforesaid,  she,  the  said 

Susan  Adams,  of  the  poison  aforesaid,  so 
taken,  drank,  and  swallowed  down  as  afore- 
said, and  of  the  said  sickness  and  distemper 
thereby  occasioned,  did  die. 

And  so  the  Jurors  aforesaid,  upon  their 
oath  aforesaid,  do  say  that  the  said  Dolores 
Adams,  alias  Vaughn,  the  said  Susan 
Adams,  in  manner  and  by  the  means  afore- 
said, feloniously,  willfully,  and  of  her  malice 
aforethought,  did  kill  and  murder,  against 
the  Peace  and  Dignity  of  the  State. 

MoBRissox,  Solicitor. 


156 


DOLORES. 


Whcnlliis  indictment  was  returned,  the 
Solicitor  rose,  and  requested  the  Court  to 
direct  the  Sheriflf  to  bring  the  prisoner  to 
the  bar  that  she  might  plead  to  the  accusa- 
tion. 

In  pursuance  of  this  motion,  Dolores  was 
brought  into  Court  to  be  arraigned,  and  the 
Clerk  read  the  Bill  of  Indictment. 

Upon  her  arraignment,  Dolores  pleaded 
Not  Guilty  and  put  herself  for  trial  upon 
God  and  her  Coimtry. 

Judge  Ashe  assigned  Thursday  for  the 
trial  of  this  case  ;  whereupon  Morrisson, 
Solicitor,  moved  for  a  special  writ  of  venire 
facias  for  one  hundred  jui-ors. 

Mre.  Colonel  Vernon  stood  in  the  dock 
with  Dolores  when  she  was  brought  into 
Court  ;  and  before  the  scorn  of  her  flashing 
eye  the  impudent  stare  of  the  vulgar  crowd 
that  packed  the  Hall  of  Justice  was  turned 
back  and  abashed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

When  the  hour  appointed  for  the  trial, 
on  Thursday,  arrived,  the  courtrroom  was 
jammed  with  a  curious  multitude,  collected 

from  C and  the  neighboring  counties, 

to  hear  the  interesting  proceedings  in  the 
case  of  the  State  ts.  Adams. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  years  the  la- 
dies of  C town  were  spectators  and  aud- 
itors of  a  criminal  trial ;  while  the  busi- 
ness of  the  town  was  almost  entirely  sus- 
pended, that  the  tradespeople  and  citizens 
might  be  present. 

At  half-past  ten  o'clock  Judge  Ashe  en- 
tered the  hall,  and  immediately  ordered  the 
Sheriff  to  open  Court.  In  a  few  minutes  a 
Deputy  of  the  Sheriff  appeared,  escorting 
Dolores,  who,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Vernon, 
took  her  seat  in  the  dock. 

Dolores  was  very  pale,  but  collected ;  and 
stood  the  pert  gaze  of  the  crowd,  that  fell 
upon  her  in  the  breathless  silence  of  that 
hush  which  her  entrance  commanded,  with 
admirable  self-possession. 

The  prosecuting  oflicer  and  his  assistant, 
and  the  prisoner's  counsel,  were  within  the 
railing  that  separated  the  members  of  the 


legal  profession  from  the  suitors,  witnesses, 
and  other  attendants  upon  the  Court. 

"If  you  are  ready,  gentlemen,"  said 
Judge  Ashe,  with  an  affable  smile  to  the 
lawyers,  "  we  will  immediately  proceed  to 
the  trial  of  the  case  set  apart  for  this  hour. 
It  will  probably  consume  a  great  deal  of 
time ;  and,  therefore,  I  wish  to  be  expedi- 
tious." 

"  The  State  is  ready,  may  it  please  your 
Honor  !  "  said  Solicitor  Morrisson,  rising 
and  bowing  to  the  Judge. 

Hereupon  the  gaze  of  the  whole  audience 
was  fastened  upon  the  Vernous. 

"  The  prisoner  asks,  may  it  please  your 
Honor,"  said  Col.  Vernon,  after  whispering 
with  his  son,  "  that  this  trial  may  be  con- 
tinued until  the  next  terra  of  the  Court. 
She  is  loath  to  go  into  this  trial  with  so  lit- 
tle preparation.  The  evidence  exists  which, 
if  it  could  be  produced,  would  so  entirely 
clear  up  every  suspicious  circumstance 
that  indicates  her  guilt,  that  she  feels  that 
she  would  be  unjust  to  herself  if  she  were 
to  assume  the  unnecessary  risk  which 
would  result  from  a  failure  to  make  this 
demand." 

Judge  Ashe. — "  Upon  what  ground  do 
you  make  the  motion  ?  Absence  of  materi- 
al witness  ?  " 

Mr.  Vernon. — "  Yes,  sir." 
General  Woodruff. — "  Will  brother  Ver- 
non make  the  necessary  affidavit — that  a 
material  witness  is  absent — and  can  he 
promise  that  the  witness  will  be  in  attend- 
ance upon  the  next  term  of  the  Court  ?  " 

Mr.  Vernon. — "  I  cannot !  It  is  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  say  positively  whether  I  can 
secure  the  attendance  of  the  witness  oi 
not.  I  am  therefore  unwilling  to  make  af- 
fidavit." 

General  Woodruff.— "  Then  the  State 
will  be  compelled  to  insist  that  the  trial 
shall  proceed." 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor,"  said  Mr. 
Roland  Vernon,  springing  to  his  feet,  with 
great  excitement  evinced  in  his  manner  and 
tone,  and  with  a  glare  of  indignation  in  his 
eye,  "  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  has  been  per- 
secuted with  a  relentless  severity  from  the 
moment  that  the  foul  aspersion,  which  she 
intends  to  repel  when  a  fair  trial  is  award- 
ed her,  was  made  against  her  pure  charac- 
ter until  now.    The  hounds  of  the  law  " — 


DOLORES. 


157 


he  pointed  towards  Morrisson  and  Wood- 
ruff—" are  barking  at  lier,  thirsting  for  her 
blood,  anxious  to  murder  her  in  her  inno- 
cence. Her  case  lias  been  prejudged  by  the 
rabble,  who  cry  for  ber  execution  with  the 
same  persistent  vindictiveness  that  charac- 
terized the  accursed  Jewish  mob,  which  de- 
manded and  obtained  the  crucifixion  of  the 
meek  and  lowly  Jesus,  at  the  judgment 
seat  of  Pontius  Pilate.  Now  when  she 
merely  asks  for  a  continuance  of  her  trial, 
alleging  that  witnesses  are  absent,  who,  if 
they  were  here  now,  could  establish  her  in- 
nocence, and  that  too  from  the  first  term  of 
the  Court  after  the  murder  of  which  she 
stands  charged,  the  prosecutors  take  advan- 
tage of  a  mere  technicality  to  oppose  her 
motion.  The  over-zealous  gentlemen  who 
represent  the'  State  must  have  some  less 
worthy  motive  for  their  haste  than  a  proper 
regard  for  the  public  interests  ;  and,  if  so, 
they  should  be  rebuked.  You  sit  there, 
may  it  please  your  Honor,  not  to  cater  to 
the  whims  of  a  maddened  and  vengeful 
populace,  not  to  be  a  minister  of  persecu- 
tion, but  to  see  the  majesty  of  the  law  vin- 
dicated, to  hold  the  scales  of  Justice  with  a 
mercifully  steady  hand,  to  protect  inno- 
cence as  well  as  to  punish  crime,  and  it  is 
your  prerogative  to  exercise  a  high  discre- 
tion in  subserving  those  ends  for  which 
your  office  was  created.  I  ask  your  Hon- 
or, therefore,  to  exercise  that  discretion 
with  which  you  are  clothed,  to  stand  be- 
tween the  forlorn  prisoner  and  her  bitter 
and  malignant  oppressors,  to  order  the  con- 
tinuance for  which  she  pleads,  to  temper 
the  performance  of  your  duty  with  that 
gentleness  which  reflects  honor  upon  the 
ermine  of  the  upright  Judge.  She  does  not 
shrink  from  a  fair  trial ;  if  she  is  con- 
demned she  will  not  fear  the  death  pen- 
alty, but  she  would  preserve  her  name 
from  dishonor — it  is  all  that  she  has  to 
transmit  to  her  children  ;  for  God's  sake  do 
not  defraud  them  of  their  legacy  under  the 
forms  of  the  law !  Give  her  a  fair  chance 
to  prove  her  innocence  ;  it  is  all  she  asks !  " 
Blurting  out  this  impolitic  and  impetu- 
ous speech  with  a  fiery  earnestness  and 
with  an  impulsive  vim  in  his  declamation 
and  action,  having  made  his  opponents 
squirm  under  his  bold  invective,  the  hot- 
headed advocate  sat  down  amid  the  evi- 


dences of  a  profound  sensation  in  the  court- 
room. When  he  did  so,  his  father  leant 
over,  and  regretfully  whispered  : 

"  There  now !  What  did  I  tell  you,  my 
son  ?  Is  that  the  sort  of  calmness  you  in- 
tend to  display?  You  have  spoilt  our 
chance.  Yoa  have  made  Woodruff  and 
Morrisson  angry,  and  they  will  not  give  us 
a  continuance  from  courtesy  ;  and  the  Judge 
will  refuse  to  exercise  his  discretion.  An 
older  and  less  politic  Judge  might  take  the 
bit  in  his  teeth  ;  but  Ashe  will  require  an 
affidavit." 

Judge  Ashe.—"  Well,  gentleman,"  to 
Morrisson  and  Woodruff,  "  do  you  consent  ? 
I  should  be  very  glad  to  order  the  continu- 
ance if  both  sides  desire  it." 

General  Woodruff. — "  We  are  disposed 
io  favor  the  defence,  as  far  as  we  can  con- 
sistently with  a  sense  of  duty  ;  "  the  Gen- 
eral smiled  blandly,  and  looked  towards 
Roland  Vernon  ;  "  but,  although  the  coun- 
sel who  has  just  addressed  the  Court  was 
so  kind  in  his  references  to  the  prosecut- 
ing oflScers,  we  cannot  stretch  our  affability 
so  far  as  to  recede  from  the  determination 
already  expressed — a  determination  prompt- 
ed by  a  due  regard  for  the  interests  of  the 
State." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Per  Curiam. — "  The  motion  for  continu- 
ance cannot  be  granted,  unless  the  defend- 
ant will  show  cause  upon  affidavit." 

Mr.  Vernon,  Senior. — "  Then  the  prisoner 
will  be  forced  to  go  into  the  trial  unpre- 
pared." 

During  the  preliminary  skirmish,  thus 
terminated,  the  audience  was  deeply  in- 
terested. Your  sovereign  citizen,  above  all 
things  in  the  world,  dislikes  to  be  inveigled 
into  the  Court  House  by  the  expectation  of 
hearing  a  great  trial,  and  then  to  havs 
some  objection  to  proceeding  raised  by 
counsel,  either  upon  motion  to  continue, 
or  upon  demand  for  removal  to  another 
county.  Consequently,  while  the  discussion 
lasted,  the  outsiders  were  greatly  annoyed  ; 
but,  when  Judge  Ashe  made  his  ruling,  a 


15S 


DOLORES. 


emile  of  relief  broke  across  many  an  ans- 
ions  face  in  the  group  of  si^ectators. 

Several  hours  were  consumed  in  selecting 
the  jury,  which  was  at  length  constituted 
to  the  satisfaction  of  both  sides,  and  duly 
sworn  and  empanelled. 

Now  the  Clerk  of  the  Court  read  the  bill 
of  indictment,  after  which  he  addressed 
the  jury  as  follows  : 

"  Upon  this  indictment  the  prisoner  has 
been  arraigned,  and  upon  her  arraignment 
she  jjleaded  not  guilty,  and  for  her  trial 
has  put  herself  upon  God,  and  her  country, 
which  country  ye  are.  So  that  your  duty 
is  to  inquire  whether  she  be  guilty  of  the 
felony  and  murder  wherewith  she  stands 
charged,  or  not  guilty.  If  you  find  her 
guilty,  you  shall  say  so :  if  you  find  her 
not  guilty  you  will  say  so,  and  no  more. 
Sit  together,  hear  the  evidence,  and  give 
your  verdict  accordingly." 

The  Court,  it  now  being  two  o'clock, 
took  a  recess  of  one  hour. 

As  Roland  Vernon  entered  the  Court 
House,  after  dinner,  the  Colonel  handed 
him  a  couple  of  letters,  and  inquired : 

"  Isn't  one  of  those  from  Brown  ?  I  notice 
the  New  York  postmark." 

"  No  sir  !  "  replied  the  son,  after  breaking 
the  seal,  and  reading  the  epistle.  "  It  is 
from  Courtnay,  and  encloses  an  important 
document — the  manuscripts  given  me  by 
that  strange  old  woman !  "  After  a  pause, 
during  which  he  mastered  the  contents  of 
the  other,  he  exclaimed  :  "  This  is  very  for- 
tunate !  Here  is  a  reply  to  my  advertise- 
ment for  Jane  Blount." 

•"'  It  is  very  strange  that  we  hear  nothing 
from  Brown  or  Bangs !  "  observed  Colonel 
Vernon. 

"  Very  !  I  begin  to  despair  of  either  of 
them  coming." 

"  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  Vernon  !  "  eaid 
General  Woodruff,  joining  the  father  and  son 
at  this  moment.  "  It  got  into  my  bos  by 
mistake,  I  suppose." 

"Thank  you.  General!"  And  Roland 
tore  open  the  envelope. 

''  ^^'ell  ?  "  inquired  the  Colonel,  watching 
Roland's  face,  and  observing  a  look  of 
satisfaction. 

This  letter  is  from  Bangs.    He  is  in  New 


Orleans,  and  on  his  way.     Unless  detained 
by  accident,  he  will  be  here  to-morrow." 
"  K  he  comes  Dolores  is  safe  !  " 

As  soon  as  the  Court  resumed  its  sitting 
Mr.  Morrisson  opened  the  case  for  the  prose- 
cution with  a  summary  of  the  facts  which 
he  intended  to  prove.  His  remarks  may 
be  condensed  as  follows  : 

"  I  esi)ect,  may  it  please  your  Honor,  and 
gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  to  establish  that 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  married  Paul  Ad- 
ams in  1861  ;  that  he  was  divorced  from 
her  in  the  spring  of  1867 ;  that  he  married 
again — the  second  time  a  Miss  Susan 
Trenton ;    that   he  brought  this    wife   to 

C town,  on  the  28th  of  December,  1867  ; 

that  he  stopped  at  the  Eagle  Hotel,  at 
which  place  his  wife  was  ill ;  that,  having 
to  proceed  to  Raleigh  on  business,  he  left 
her  in  the  professional  care  of  Doctor 
McPherson,  who  was  instructed  to  employ 
a  nurse  ;  that  his  divorced  wife — the  prison- 
er at  the  bar,  was  engaged  in  pursuance  of 
this  instruction,  and  administered  certain 
medicine  while  so  employed ;  that  this 
medicine  contained  arsenic,  and  that  Mrs. 
Adams — the  deceased — died  from  the  doses 
of  it  which  were  given  by  the  prisoner.  I 
intend  to  establish  that  this  medicine  did 
not  contain  arsenic  when  carried  from  the 
drug  store  of  Mr.  Edmonds,  at  which  it 
was  prepared  ;  and  that  on  the  28th  day 
of  December,  the  prisoner  purchased  arse- 
nic for  the  alleged  purpose  of  exterminat- 
ing rats.  I  shall  contend  that  a  motive  for 
the  murder  existed  in  the  fact  that  the  da- 
ceased  was  the  wife  of  the  former  husband 
of  the  prisoner,  that  an  opportunity  was 
afforded  by  the  employment  of  the  prisoner 
to  nurse  the  deceased,  and  that  the  pre- 
sumption of  guilt  is  made  so  strong  as  to 
be  little  less  than  certain,  in  that  the  pris- 
oner is  known  to  have  purchased  the 
poison  on  the  day  previous  to  the  murder." 
When  the  Solicitor  concluded,  several 
witnesses  were  sworn  without  any  voir  dire 
examination. 

Col.  Vernon  demanded  that  all  the  wit- 
nesses for  the  prosecution  should  leave  the 
court-room,  save  the  one  placed  upon  the 
stand  ;  and  the  prosecuting  attorney  con 
sented. 


DOLORES. 


159 


"  John  Wriglit !  "  cried  General  Wood- 
ruff. 

"  Here  !  "  answered  Jock,  walking  round 
and  taking  his  place  upon  the  witness 
stand. 

Genl.  W. — "  Do  you  know  whether  Paul 
Adams  and  Dolores  Vaughn  were  married 
in  1861 ;  and,  if  so,  whether  the  prisoner  is 
the  Dolores  Vaughn  so  married  ?  " 

Witness. — "  Yes.  Paul  Adams  was  mar- 
ried to  Dolores  Vaughn — the  prisoner — in 
the  spring  of  18G1.  I  was  present  at  the 
wedding,  and  acted  as  a  groomsman." 

Genl.  W. — "  That  will  do,  sir.  You  can 
take  the  witness,  gentlemen." 

"Stand  aside,  Mr.  Wright,"  said  Col. 
Vernon. 

"  George  Shyster !  " 

"  Here ! " 

The  gentleman  from  Tryon  Eow,  New 
York,  mounted  the  stand. 

Genl.  Woodruff. — "  Were  you  employed 
by  Paul  Adams,  as  his  attorney  in  the  case 
of  Adams  against  Adams — an  action  for  di- 
vorce in  the  State  of  New  York " 

"  Connecticut,  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  inter- 
rupted the  witner-s. 

" In  the  State  of  Connecticut ;  and 

will  you  please  state  what  judgment  was 
rendered  therein,  if  any  ?  " 

Shyster  here  gave  a  statement  of  his  con- 
nection with  the  case,  and  established  the 
fact  of  divorce.  He  displayed  a  shrewdness 
and  genius  for  fabrication,  in  his  testimony, 
that  dazzled  Vernon,  who  knew  the  truth, 
and  discovered  at  once  that  the  witness 
was  perjuring  himself.  The  scoundrel 
avoided  making  any  communications  likely 
to  throw  discredit  on  Adams  or  to  bring  dis- 
repute upon  himself,  but  recited  the  sub- 
stance of  the  testimony — the  perjured  tes- 
timony— which  was  presented  against  Dol- 
ores on  the  trial  for  divorce.  His  evidence 
was  terribly  damaging,  in  that  it  utterly 
destroyed  the  reputation  of  the  prisoner,  if 
it  was  true. 

"Is  there  any  need  of  cross-examining 
him  ?  "  whispered  Col.  Vernon  to  Koland, 
when  Shyster  was  tendered  by  Woodruff 

"Yes!  Let  me  conduct  the  inquisi- 
tion" 

It  was  an  inquisition  that  followed.  Ro- 
land drove  home  the  disgracing  questions 
with  a  fearful  directness  ;  and,  desj^ite  the 


evasions,  dodges,  and  lies  of  the  unprinci 
pled  New  Yorker,  laid  bare  to  the  vast  audi 
tory  the  horrible  details  of  the  heartless 
scheme  by  which  Paul  Adams  had  put  away 
one  wife  and  taken  another.  The  villain 
lied  brazenly ;  but  the  searching  depth  and 
skillful  construction  of  Vernon's  adroitly 
framed  questions,  forced  the  truth  from 
him,  or  compelled  him  to  prevaricate  so 
awkwardly,  that  an  impression  was  made 
on  the  Court,  jury,  and  auditory,  which  no 
denial  of  the  alleged  facts  could  destroy  ; 
and  this  impression  was  deepened  and 
strengthened  by  the  blank  face  of  the  per- 
jurer, whenever  he  was  surprised  by  an  un- 
expected inquiry  that  developed  a  further 
intricate  knowledge  of  his  entire  operations 
on  the  part  of  the  examiner.  This  severe 
cross-examination  was  terminated  by  the 
following  sally : 

"Mr.  Shyster,  did  you  see  Col.  Adams 
after  his  second  marriage  ?  " 

Shyster.—"  I  did,  sir." 

Vernon. — "  Did  you  accompany  him  to 
Hegeman's  drug  store  on  the  afternoon  of 
June  24th, 1867  ?  " 

"  Shyster. — I  do  not  remember ;  but  I 
think  I  did.  I  went  with  him  to  Hege- 
man's, one  afternoon,  while  he  and  his  wife 
were  in  New  York."  , 

Vernon. — "  Well,  sir,  did    he   tell 

TOU  WHAT  HE  INTENDED  TO  DO  W^ITH 
TWO  OUNCES  OF  ARSENIC  WHICn  HE 
BOUGHT  THAT  AFTERNOON,  AND  "WHY  HE 
PRETENDED   TO  BE  A  PHYSICIAN?" 

Before  this  trial,  Vernon  had  never  seen 
Shyster  but  once,  although  he  was  thor- 
oughly intimate  with  the  history  of  his 
participation  in  the  divorce  suits.  Still 
that  once  was  on  an  occasion,  and  under 
circumstances,  that  fixed  every  feature  of 
the  villain's  face  in  his  memory.  It  was  the 
afternoon  that  Paul  Adams  entered  Hege- 
man's, with  a  stranger,  and  bought  arsenic. 
The  stranger  and  Shyster  were  identical ! 

The  witness  turned  pale.  -Adams,  who 
was  watching  the  proceedings  with  intense 
interest,  lost  his  habitual  self-control.  The 
eyes  of  Judge,  jury,  and  audience,  were  fixed 
upon  him  for  a  minute,  and  he  became  red 
and  white  in  turn. 

•'Why  don't  you  answer?"  sharply 
asked  the  questioner,  having  given  the  wit- 
ness time  to  expose  his  abashment. 


100 


DOLORES. 


Shyster  (wiili  a  certain  air  of  defiance, 
but  evidently  deejily  agitated). — "I  never 
Baw  Col.  Adams  purchase  any  arsenic,  nor 
did  he  ever  speak  to  me  of  any." 

Vernon. — "  Were  you  not  standing  close 
by  him  when  he  made  the  purchase  ?  " 

Shyster. — "  Yes.  I  mean  " — very  much 
confused — "  that  is  to  say — I  wanted  to  re- 
ply that  I  was  with  him  at  Hegeman's; 
but  I  saw  him  buy  no  arsenic,  nor  did  I 
hear  him  call  for  any." 

Vernon  (blandly,  and,  with  a  triumphant 
smile  of  contempt,  that  he  made  tell  in  the 
jury-box).  —  "You  can  stand  aside,  Mr. 
Shyster." 

This  cross-examination  served  an  excel- 
lent purpose,  for  it  xitterly  destroyed  the 
public  prejudice  against  Dolores,  and  re- 
placed it  with  a  warm  sympathy,  which 
was  the  stuff  he  wanted  to  play  upon  in  his 
speech. 

Mr.  Edmonds  was  next  called ;  and  by 
him  it  was  established  that  Dolores  had 
purchased  arsenic  from  his  store  on  the  af- 
ternoon of  the  2Sth  of  December,  the  day 
before  the  death  of  Mrs.  Adams. 

The  Vernous  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  cross-examine,  and  Doctor  McPherson 
was  put  upon  the  stand. 

The  Doctor  testified  that  he  had  been 
called  in  to  see  the  deceased  by  Col.  Adams, 
whom  he  did  not  then  know,  and  was  vrith 
her  the  night  before  her  death ;  that  she 
was  introduced  to  him  as  Mrs.  Trenton  ; 
that  he  secured  the  services  of  the  prisoner 
as  nurse  for  Mrs.  Trenton,  not  himself 
knowing  that  she  was  in  reality  Mrs. 
Adams  ;  that  he  gave  a  prescription  com- 
posed of  ingredients  that  would  not  have 
produced  death,  and  which  he  saw  prepared, 
and  delivered,  without  containing  arsenic, 
to  Col.  Adams  ;  that  Dolores  admitted  that 
she  had  given  three  doses  from  the  vial  in 
which  it  was  sent ;  that  he  was  called  in 
to  see  the  deceased  again  on  the  following 
morning,  and  had  found  her  suffering  more 
than  ever,  and  prescribed  opium  and  calo- 
mel, and  subsequently  morphine  ;  that,  in 
his  opinion,  the  death  had  not  resulted 
from  any  of  the  remedies  administered,  but 
that  it  was  occasioned  by  poisoning  from 
arsenic  ;  that  the  contents  of  the  vial  of 
mixture  administered  by  the  prisoner  were 
subjected  to  chemical  analysis,  as  were  the 


contents  of  the  stomach  of  the  deceased  up- 
on a  post  mortem  examination,  and  found 
to  contain  arsenic. 

Cross-examined  by  Col.  Vej-non. Doctor 

McPherson  stated  that  he  assisted  at  the 
autopsy  of  the  deceased  ;  that  the  chest  and 
abdomen  were  laid  open  and  the  right  lung 
was  found  adherent  to  the  lining  membrane 
of  the  chest,  the  left  lung  collapsed  ;  that 
the  heart  was  removed  and  afterwards  ex- 
amined without  any  disease  of  that  organ 
being  found  ;  that  the  stomach  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  smaller  intestines  presented  de- 
cided evidences  of  inflammation  externally  ; 
that  there  was  no  external  evidence  of  dis- 
ease of  the  liver,  and  it  was  not  removed  ; 
that  the  larger  intestines  were  pale  and  un- 
usually contracted,  and  the  bladder  remark- 
ably so  ;  that  from  thirty  to  forty  inches  of 
the  intestines  were  diseased.     That  a  liga- 
ture was  tied  above  the  uj^per  orifice  of  the 
stomach,  and  another  at  a  point  on  the  in- 
testinal tube  where  the  external  marks  of 
disease  ceased,  and  that  the  parts  included 
between  these  ligatures  were  removed,  and, 
afterwards,  taken  to  his  oflSce,  opened,  ex- 
amined, and  a  high  state  of  inflammation 
found  in  the  lining  coats  of  the  stomach 
and  intestines.     That  patches  of  erosions 
were  discovered  where  the  inner  coat  of  the 
stomach  was  eaten  through  ;  and  that  at 
several  points,  in  and  around  the  erosions 
chiefly,  specks  of  whitish  matter  in  form  of 
paste  were  found  adhering  to  the  stomach. 
That  the  contents  of  the  stomach  were  re- 
ceived in  a  clean  vessel  and  a  portion  of  the 
fluid   contents  evaporated  ;  that  a  portion 
of  the  residuum  of  evaporation  was  put 
into  a  clean  Florence  flask  with  distilled 
water  and  boiled  a  half  hour — then  fil- 
tered ;  that  ammonio-nitrate  of  silver  was 
applied  to  this  filtered  solution  and  a  light 
yellow  precipitate  that  afterwards  changed 
to  a  dirty  brown  was  obtained  ;  that  ammo- 
nio-sulphate  of  copper  was  applied  to  an- 
other portion  of  the  same  solution  and  an 
apple  green  precipitate  was  obtained  ;  that, 
after  adding  a  few  drops  of  hydrochloric 
acid,  a  few  pieces  of  bright  copper  were 
boiled  in  a  portion  of  this  same  solution, 
and  that  this  resulted  in  an  iron-gray  coat- 
ing on  the  copper.    That  to  a  solution  of 
known  arsenic  the  same  tests  were  applied 
with  precisely  similar  results. 


DOLORES. 


161 


"  Were  those  the  only  tests  applied,  Doc- 
tor?" questioned  Col.  Vernon. 

"No,  sir.  Some  of  the  white  particles 
found  in  the  stomach  were  subjected  to  a 
blow  pipe  heat  and  evolved  the  odor  of  gar- 
lic, "which  is  indicative  of  arsenic." 

"  Well,  did  you  make  any  further  experi- 
ment ?  " 

"  Subsequently  we  took  some  of  the  sus- 
pected fluid,  added  water  charged  with  sul- 
phureted  hydrogen  gas,  and  this  imme- 
diately caused  a  decided  yellow  color,  which 
some  hours  afterwards  resulted  in  a  sul- 
phur yellow  precipitate.  Again,  a  portion 
of  the  precipitate  derived  from  the  ammonio- 
sulphate  of  copper  test  with  suspected  fluid 
was  put  into  a  tube  with  a  flux  composed 
of  carb.  potash  and  charcoal  and  strong 
heat  applied — a  ring  of  iron-gray  color 
formed  near  the  neck  of  the  tube,  and 
crystals,  numerous  and  unequivocal,  were 
condensed  on  the  cooler  portion  of  the  tube. 
The  same  flux  and  arsenic  was  subjected 
to  the  same  experiment  with  the  same  re- 
sult. Some  of  the  same  precipitate  put  into 
a  platina  spoon  with  charcoal  under  a  blow- 
pipe heat,  exhaled  garlic  odor.  Afterwards 
some  of  the  white  substance  taken  from 
the  stomach,  having  been  received  on  bibu- 
lovis  paper,  put  into  a  test-tube  with  dried 
carb.  potash  and  charcoal,  subjected  to  the 
heat  of  a  spirit  lamp,  produced  a  well- 
marked  ring  of  an  iron  or  steel  gray  color 
and  metalic  lustre.  That  portion  of  the 
tube  on  which  the  ring  formed  was  cut  off" 
and  placed  in  a  large  test-tube — heat  again 
applied,  and  crystals  in  some  abundance 
condensed  on  cooler  portions  of  the  tube. 
Into  this  tube  distilled  water  was  poured 
and  boiled  till  the  crystals  dissolved.  To 
one  portion  of  this  solution  the  ammonio- 
sulph.  copper  test  was  applied,  and  an  ap- 
ple-green precipitate  was  produced.  To 
another  portion, ammonio-nit.  silver  test  was 
added,  a  light  yellow  precipitate,  which 
changed  to  a  brownish  color,  was  produced. 
Sulphureted  hydrogen  gas  was  introduced 
into  another  portion,  immediately  causing  a 
sulphur  yellow  color — no  precipitate  falling 
then,  but  produced  afterwards  by  heating 
and  acidulation." 

Mr.  Vernon. — "  From  these  experiments, 
Doctor,  are  you  prepared  to  state  positively 
11 


that  the  deceased  died  from  poisoning  by 
arsenic  ?  " 

Doctor  McPherson. — "  Such  is  my  opin- 
ion— but  I  cannot  say  unqualifiedly  that 
the  death  was  produced  from  no  other 
cause." 

Mr.  Vernon. — "Do  you  regard  yourself 
as  an  expert  chemist — so  expert  as  to  be 
able  to  pronounce  an  opinion  of  such  weight 
as  ought  to  decide  a  question  of  life  and 
death  ?  " 

Doctor  Mcpherson. — "  My  experience  m 
experimental  chemistry  is  limited,  and  I  do 
not  think  that  my  opinion  in  such  matters 
should  be  regarded  as  infallible." 

Mr.  Vernon. — "  You  can  stand  aside. 
Doctor." 

Doctor  Effingham  was  the  next  witness 
for  the  State.  He  testified  that  he  saw  the 
deceased  in  the  afternoon  of  December  29th, 
1867,  having  been  called  into  consultation 
by  Dr.  McPherson  ;  that  the  deceased  died 
during  his  visit;  that  she  was  pulseless, 
breathing  hurriedly,  had  cold  skin,  was 
suffering  from  intense  pain  in  the  pit  of  her 
stomach,  complained  of  a  sinking  feeling ; 
and  that  these  symptoms  lasted  until  her 
death.  That  immediately  before  her  death 
she  declared  herself  to  be  the  wife  of  Paul 
Adams,  and  when  she  did  so,  the  prisoner, 
who  was  present  -in  the  capacity  of  nurse, 
attempted,  with  a  look  of  great  consterna- 
tion, to  rush  from  the  room  and  appeared 
to  be  greatly  confused  ;  but  that  the  de- 
ceased declared  her  belief  in  the  innocence 
of  the  prisoner  after  it  was  suggested  that 
she  had  been  poisoned.  The  Doctor  gave  a 
detailed  account  of  the  autopsy  and  of  the 
application  of  chemical  tests  to  the  con- 
tents of  the  stomach,  which  tallied  exactly 
with  that  of  Doctor  McPherson  ;  only  it  was 
also  stated  by  Doctor  Effingham  that  the 
contents  of  the  vial  labelled  Chloroform 
Mixture  were  subjected  to  the  same  experi- 
ments with  the  same  results.  He  was  posi- 
tive that  the  death  resulted  from  poisoning 
and  from  no  other  cause. 

Mr.  Roland  Vernon  cross-examined  this 
witness. 

"Doctor  Effingham,"  asked  he,  "what 
induced  you  to  suspect  the  presence  of  ar- 
senic ?  " 

Doctor  E. — "  The  symptoms  described." 


162 


DOLORES. 


Vornon. — "From  the  symptoms  alone 
M'Oiild  you  have  pronounced  the  death  to 
be  from  arsenic  ?  " 

Doctor  E. — "  I  would  not.  But  I  would 
have  been  convinced  that  they  Avere  caused 
by  some  irritant  poison  from  which  the 
death  also  resulted.  Chloroform,  or  lau- 
danum in  small  doses,  as  prescribed  by 
Doctor  JlcPhcrson,  could  not  have  produced 
death,  or  the  symptoms  noted." 

Vernon. — "  Do  you  hold  that  the  pres- 
ence of  arsenic  can  be  detected  infalliblj-  ?  " 

Doctor  E. — "  I  do.  There  is  no  division 
of  sentiment  among  Toxicologists  upon 
this  subject." 

Vernon. — "  Is  there  any  reliable  test  ex- 
cept that  known  as  the  reduction  test ; 
and,  if  not,  did  you  use  that." 

Doctor  E. — "  There  is  no  single  reliable 
test,  besides  the  reduction  test ;  but  that 
was  used.  However,  when  the  same  fact 
is  attested  by  each  of  the  other  tests  used 
by  us,  when  they  all  agree,  there  is  no 
room  for  cavil.  I  have  some  experience  as 
a  Chemist,  and  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that, 
in  this  case,  there  is  no  doubt !  " 

Vernon  turned  suddenly  to  his  father, 
and  asked  in  an  excited  whisper,  his  man- 
ner betraying  his  discomposure  :  "  Shall 
I  force  him  to  refuse  an  answer  as  to  re- 
ligious belief?  Unless  Bangs  comes,  or 
this  testimony  is  damaged,  Dolores  is  lost !  " 

"  It's  a  bad  precedent  for  you ;  but  I 
would  not  hesitate,"  was  the  ready  re- 
sponse. 

Vernon. — "  Doctor  EiBngham,  I  will  ask 
you  whether  you  believe  in  the  existence 
of  a  God  who  rewards  and  punishes." 

The  question  fell  like  a  thunderbolt. 
Woodruff  wilted,  and  sat  trembling.  Mor- 
risson  was  not  the  man  to  be  thrown  off  his 
guard,  however  ;  and  he  instantly  sprang 
to  his  feet. 

"  I  object  to  the  question,"  said  he.  "It 
cannot  be  asked  now.  If  the  witness  was 
suspected  of  inadmissibility  he  should  have 
been  examined  voir  dire.  At  this  stage  of 
the  proceedings,  it  cannot  be  put." 

"  Mr.  Starkie  is  of  the  opposite  opinion," 
replied  Vernon.  "  He  unequivocally  says, 
'  althougli  a  witness  shall  have  taken  the 
oath  in  the  usual  form  without  making  any 
objection,  he  may,  nevertheless,  be  after- 
Wards  asked  whether  he  considers  the  oath 


he  has  taken  binding  on  his  conscience.' 
I  put  that  question  now,  only  in  a  more 
specific  form." 

Per  Curiam. — "  Clearly,  the  question 
may  be  asked  ;  and  a  refusal  to  answer,  if 
any,  may  be  commented  upon  to  the  jury. 
The  Court  will  hear  an  argument,  however, 
as  to  whether  the  witness  can  be  compelled 
to  answer.  Upon  that  point  there  is  a  con- 
flict of  authorities,  and  the  court  prefers  to 
hear  coimsel  before  deciding  it." 

"  As  it  is  very  late,  may  it  please  your 
Honor,"  said  Colonel  Vernon,  looking  at 
his  watch,  and  finding  that  it  was  seven 
o'clock  P.  M.,  "  and  as  this  trial  must  ne- 
cessarily consume  another  day,  I  would 
suggest  an  adjomniment  until  ten  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning.  Such  an  arrangement 
will  doubtless  be  satisfactory  to  coimsel  on 
both  sides." 

"  With  that  understanding,  then,  the 
Court  vv^ill  stand  adjom-ned." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Hall  of  Justice  was  crowded  again 
the  next  day,  when  the  sitting  of  the  court 
was  resumed,  the  interest  in  the  trial  hav- 
ing been  intensified  by  the  developments  of 
the  proceedings  of  Thursday. 

Judge  Aslie  occupied  the  bench,  Morris- 
son  and  Woodruff  were  at  their  places, 
Dolores,  unaccompanied,  had  just  entered 
the  dock,  when  INIr.  Roland  Vernon  came 
in  with  his  wife  on  his  arm,  and  led  her  to 
a  seat  by  the  prisoner. 

"I  regret  to  bave  detained  the  Coui-t," 
said  he,  as  he  took  his  place  at  a  table  with- 
in the  railing  ;  "  but  a  sudden  attack  of 
illness  prostrated  my  father,  early  this 
morning,  and  my  coming  was  delayed.  I 
am  ready  to  proceed !  " 

The  announcement  that  he  was  to  con- 
duct the  trial,  unaided,  dreadfully  disap- 
pointed that  portion  of  the  audience  that 
had  grown,  since  the  opening,  to  feel  a 
sympathy  for  the  prisoner.  Dolores,  how- 
ever, felt  no  uneasiness,  for  she  had  an  ex- 
alted confidence  in  the  young  advocate'? 
ability. 


DOLORES. 


163 


"  Has  anything  furtlier  been  lieard  from 
Mr.  Bangs  ?  "  she  leaned  over  and  asked. 

"  Not  a  word !  "  replied  Vernon. 

Dolores  drew  back  with  a  tremor.  The 
crowd  noticed  ;  and,  attributing  her  weak- 
ness to  a  distrust  of  the  lawyer,  felt  gloomy. 
The  hopes  of  her  sympathisers  died  out  en- 
tirely. 

IMorrisson  arose  to  address  the  Court 
upon  the  questions  raised  the  evening  pre- 
vious. 

"  The  State  holds,"  said  he,  "  that  an  ab- 
sence of  belief  in  a  future  state  of  punish- 
ment and  rewards  does  not  render  a  wit- 
ness inadmissible,  and,  consequently,  does 
not  weaken  the  force  of  his  testimony. 
This  matter  is  settled  in  the  case  of  Shaw 
vs.  Moore,  4th  Jones'  N.  C.  Reports." 

The  crowd  looked  its  j)ity  for  the  prison- 
er and  her  counsel. 
I  "If  the  Solicitor  had  taken  the  pains  to 
'  comprehend  the  question  put  to  the  wit- 
ness," retorted  Mr.  Vernon,  "  if  he  had 
waited  before  entering  his  objection  to  know 
what  he  was  objecting  to,  he  would  have 
been  saved  the  trouble  of  examining  the 
decisions  on  a  point  not  at  issue.  I  asked 
the  witness  whether  he  believed  in  a  Oocl 
icho  punishes  and  rewards  not  necessarily 
in  a  future  state,  but  even  in  this  life." 

Morrissou  looked  blank,  and  went  to  con- 
sulting Yi^ith  Woodruff.  The  confidence 
of  the  spectators  in  Vernon's  capacity  was 
restcced. 

Monissou  rose  at  length,  and  addressed 
the  Court : 

"  Wo  hold,  may  it  please  your  Honor," 
said  he,  with  an  air  of  confidence,  "  that 
the  question  has  a  tendency  to  disgrace  and 
render  the  witness  infamous.  In  this  era 
of  Christian  enlightenment,  he  who  denies 
the  existence  of  the  Deity  is  held  in  j  ust 
abhorrence  by  all  those  members  of  society 
who  have  been  brought  within  the  range 
of  civilization,  which  is  the  x>ioneer  and  her- 
ald of  religion.  Such  being  the  tendency 
of  the  question,  the  witness  cannot  be  com- 
pelled to  answer  it.  I  cite  the  case  of  Rex 
ts.  Lewis,  in  which  Lord  Ellen  borough  held 
that  a  witness  is  not  bound  to  answer  any 
question,  the  object  of  which  is  to  disgrace 
or  render  infamous.  Again,  1  cite  the  opin- 
ion of  Trelfy,  C.  J.,  in  the  celebrated  Cook 
case,  in  which  he  says  :  '  If  it  be  an  infa- 


mous thing,  that  is  enough  to  preserve  a 
man  from  being  bound  to  answer.'  So  in  a 
number  of  cases,  with  which  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  burden  your  Honor's  memory,  the 
same  principle  is  decided." 

Mr.  R.  Vernon. — "  ISIay  it  please  your 
Honor,  you  have  ruled  that  the  question 
may  be  asked  ;  you  have  ruled  that  a  re- 
fusal to  answer  may  be  commented  upon 
in  the  argument  to  the  Jury  ;  there  is  no 
doubt  that  the  question  might  have  been 
asked  and  required  to  be  answered,  upon 
an  examination  voir  dire.  Now,  therefore, 
I  contend  that  there  is  no  reason  wliicli 
takes  this  question,  after  the  witness  has 
been  sworn,  out  of  the  rule  that  requires  an 
answer,  no  matter  how  great  the  tendency 
to  disgrace  and  render  infamous,  upon  the 
voir  dire  examination ;  I  further  contend 
that  the  principle  which  permits  the  ques- 
tion, and  which  allows  comment  on  a  re- 
fusal in  the  argument  to  the  Jury  (as  held 
in  the  case  of  State  vs.  Garrett,  Busbee's  N, 
C.  Reports)  also  compels  an  answer,  else 
there  is  not  that  stern  logic  in  the  law  of 
which  it  makes  its  boasts.  Your  Honor 
will  remember  that  Lord  Ellenborough, 
whose  opinion  in  the  case  of  Rex  vs.  Lewis 
has  been  cited,  compelled  a  witness  who 
had  been  confined  in  jail  to  answer  as  to 
that  fact,  and  when  appealed  to  by  the  wit- 
ness for  protection  from  the  inquiry,  said : 
'  If  you  don't  answer  I'll  send  you  there  ' 
— this  too  in  a  civil  action.  Frost  vs.  Hollo- 
way.  Again,  in  the  case  of  McBridj  vs. 
McBride,  Lord  Alvanley,  in  his  opinion,  re- 
marked :  '  I  will  not  say  that  a  witness 
shall  not  be  asked  what  may  tend  to  dis- 
parage him;  that  icould  prevent  an  investi- 
(jatlon  into  the  character  of  the  witness 
which  it  may  he  of  importance  to  ascertain.' 
Besides,  it  was  held  in  the  case  of  Rex  vs. 
Edwards  that  a  person  was  bound  to  answer 
the  question  whether  he  Lad  stood  in  the 
pillory  for  perjury.  In  conclusion  I  insist 
that  no  question  -which  may  be  properly 
asked  can  be  avoided  by  a  refusal  on  the 
part  of  the  witness  to  answer  ;  that  the  an- 
swer by  compulsion  is  the  direct,  logical, 
necessary  result  of  the  right  to  ask." 

Per  Curiam. — "  The  weight  of  English 
authority  seems  to  be  against  the  policy  of 
compellmg'  a  witness  to  answer  a  question 
which  has  a  tendency  to  disgrace  him.    lu 


164 


DOLORES. 


the  case  of  McBtide  vs.  McBride,  whicli  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoner  has  quoted,  if  the 
Court  remembers  accurately,  the  part  of 
the  decision  cited  Avas  a  mere  qualification 
of  the  opinion  of  Lord  Alvanley  that  such 
a  question  ought  not  to  be  answered.  It  is 
by  no  means  clear  that  a  witness  may  be 
compelled  to  answer  even  on  the  voir  dire 
examination,  but  a  refusal  to  answer  would 
render  the  evidence  inadmissible.  But 
granting  that  a  witness  may  be  compelled 
in  that  case  ;  there  the  question  affects  the 
admissibility  only,  here  the  matter  of  cred- 
ibility is  affected.  Therefore,  the  Court 
will  concur  with  Ch.  Justice  Treby's  opin- 
ion in  Cook"s  case,  as  this  point  has  never 
been  settled  by  the  Supreme  Court  of  North 
Carolina.  It  is  true  that  in  the  case  of  the 
State  vs.  Garrett  it  is  observed  that  it  seems 
that  a  witness  must  answer ;  but  that  is  an 
obiter  dictum" 

Mr.  Vernon  neted  an  exception  ;  and  di- 
rected Dr.  EflBngham  to  stand  aside. 

The  prosecution  closed  its  case  with  the 
proprietor  of  the  Eagle  Hotel,  who  estab- 
lished the  facts  that  the  deceased  stopped 
at  his  house  sick,  that  she  was  registered 
as  Mrs.  Paid  Adams,  that  her  husband  left 
at  daylight  on  the  29th  of  December,  that 
she  remained,  was  nursed  by  Mrs.  Dolores 
Adams,  and  died  on  the  afternoon  of  her 
husband's  departure. 

Mr.  Vernon  asked  thirty  minutes'  recess 
that  he  might  have  time  to  consider  wheth- 
er he  should  introduce  any  evidence  for  the 
prisoner.    Granted, 

"  If  you  don't  bring  forward  very  strong 
rebutting  proof,"  said  Judge  Ashe  in  a  low 
whisper  as  he  passed  Vernon  on  his  way 
back  to  his  seat  upon  the  bench,  when  the 
half  hour  had  expired,  "  your  client  cannot 
escape  conviction.  I  never  heard  more  con- 
clusive circumstantial  evidence — the  chain 
is  perfect ! " 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Mr.  Vernon,  for  the  defence,  made  an 
inexplicit  and  brief  statement  of  the  pris- 


oner's case,  being  kept  in  check  by  the 
uncertainty  respecting  Bangs. 

He  perceived  that  everything  depended 
upon  his  consuming  time.  If  he  hurried 
though  the  little  proof  which  he  could 
rely  upon,  the  case  would  have  to  be  closed  ; 
so  he  commenced  a  series  of  manoeuvres 
for  delay — known  among  lawyers  and  par- 
liamentarians as  fillibusterings. 

If  Bangs  had  been  present,  his  testimony 
and  very  little  other,  would  have  been  in- 
troduced ;  and  then  the  case  would  have 
been  given  to  the  jury.  As  it  was,  how- 
ever, with  Bangs  absent,  and  only  a  ghost 
of  a  hope  of  his  arrival  in  time,  Vernon 
was  compelled  to  rack  his  brain  for  expe- 
dients. He  brought  forward  numbers  of 
witnesses  to  immaterial  facts  ;  and,  despite 
the  inquiries  of  the  opposing  counsel  as  to 
the  beariug  of  this  and  that  statement,  in 
the  face  of  the  expostulations  of-the  Judge, 
who  constantly  interfered  and  sought  to 
hurry  the  trial  to  an  end,  he  kept  up  the 
fight  for  time  until  his  hand  was  utterly 
played  out. 

Still  Bangs  did  not  come. 

Vernon  had  presented  an  array  of  unne- 
cessary evidence  as  to  the  prisoner's  char- 
acter, had  proved  innumerable  circum- 
stances that  had  no  bearing  whatever  upon 
the  question  of  guilt  or  innocence,  and  at 
last  balked.  His  last  resource  was  Mrs. 
Adams,  the  step-mother  of  Paul. 

She  was  called ;  sworn ;  and  stood  in 
amazement  waiting  to  be  questioned. 

Vernon. — "  Mrs.  Adams,  are  you  acquaint- 
ed with  the  character  of  Paul  Adams,  the 
husband  of  the  deceased  1 " 

Objection  to  this  question  was  anticipated , 
but  Vernon  hoped  it  would  open  grounds 
for  an  argument ;  and  argument,  although 
he  was  certain  to  be  overthrown,  was  ex- 
actly what  he  wanted,  as  it  would  procrasti- 
nate the  proceedings. 

Objection  came.  General  Woodruff  rose 
excitedly,  and  said,  with  great  vehemence  : 

"  The  introduction  of  this  witness  is  so 
palpably  intended  for  delay,  that  the  prose- 
cution will  not  afford  the  counsel  for  the 
defence  an  opportunity  to  discuss  the  pro- 
priety of  the  question  by  raising  formal  ob- 
jection ;  but  the  prosecution  insists  that  it 
is  the  peculiar  province — aye !  the  stern 


DOLORES. 


165 


duty — of  tlie  Court  to  condemn  in  a  most 
peremptory  manner  the  action  of  the  de- 
fendant's counsel  in  attempting  to  trifle 
away  the  valuable  time  of  this  Court.  The 
character  of  Adams  is  not  a  legitimate  sub- 
ject for  investigation  on  this  trial,  as  the 
gentleman  well  knows;  for  he  is  neither 
accused  under  the  indictment,  nor  is  he  a 
witness  in  this  cause.  We  have  no  desire, 
entertain  no  purpose,  to  curtail  any  of  the 
rights  of  counsel :  but  he  insults  the  intel- 
ligence of  this  Honorable  Court  by  his  ef- 
fort to  introduce  extraneous  matter  into 
this  trial.  I  hope  every  similar  attempt 
will  be  promptly  and  decisively  rebuked  by 
the  Court." 

Mr.  Vernon  (rising  and  making  a  show 
of  reply). — "  May  it  please  your  honor " 

Judge  Ashe. — "  The  Court  heartily  con- 
curs with  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution. 
Mr.  Vernon  will  take  his  seat.  If  he  in- 
tends to  introduce  material  testimony,  he 
must  proceed  forthwith." 

Vernon,  put  to  the  wall,  with  a  face  white 
with  despair,  then  called  Davis,  his  travel- 
ling companion  from  Raleigh.  He  was 
sworn. 

The  incident  of  finding  the  envelope,  and 
the  broken  arsenic  bottle  and  label,  and  the 
time  of  the  finding,  was  proved  by  this  wit- 
ness. 

Now  came  -the  "  tug  of  war."  Vernon 
resolved  to  offer  himself.  If  he  could  pass 
without  an  examination  voir  dire  his  testi- 
mony would  stand  with  that  of  Effingham. 

Vernon. — "  Mr.  Clerk,  will  you  please 
swear  me !  " 

"  Stop, Mr.  Vernon!  "  said  Morrisson,  with 
a  glee  that  was  fiendish  in  its  triumphant 
sparkle— the  bastard  was  to  have  a  chance 
to  retaliate  on  the  advocate,  for  an  insult 
Ions:  since  delivered !  "  I  desire  to  ask 
you  a  few  questions  before  you  are  sworn." 

Vernon  (with  a  princely  air). — "  Certainly, 
sir." 

Morrisson. — "  Do  you  believe  in  a  God 
who  punishes  and  rewards,  Mr.  Vernon  ?  " 

Vernon. — "  The  oath  which  I  am  about 
to  take,  I  hold  to  be  binding  on  my  con- 
science." 

Morrisson. — "  That  is  an  evasion,  sir.  An- 
swer my  question ! " 

Vernon. — "  Then  to  be  more  explicit,  I 


believe  in  a  doctrine  of  Compensation.  I 
know  that  the  Code  punishes  Perjury.  I 
know  that  Society  deals  its  penalties  against 
the  transgressors  of  its  Opinions.  I  know 
that  infractions  of  the  Natural  Law  bring 
punishments  upon  the  Violators.  I  believe 
that  he  who  tramples  upon  social,  human 
and  natural  laws,  will  assuredly  suffer ;  that 
he  who  obeys  will  be  blessed.  Knowing 
and  believing  these  things,  an  oath,  in  the 
usual  form,  will  be  binding  on  my  Con- 
science and  on  my  Honor." 

Morrisson. — "  Please  say,  unequivocally, 
whether  you  believe  that  God  deals  out  this 
Comjjensation ;  or  whether  it  is  a  trust  in 
Human  Justice  that  is  cherished  by  your 
Faith." 

Veruon. — "If  the  solicitor  will  give  me 
the  benefit  of  his  ideas  on  the  somewhat 
profound  ethical  subject  of  the  Deity's  Na- 
ture, and  will  define  with  precision  what 
the  Law  means  by  a  God  who  punishes  and 
rewards,  I  will  take  pleasure  in  answering 
his  inquiry." 

Morrisson.  —  "I  submit,  may  it  please 
your  Honor,  that  the  witness  is  clearly  in- 
admissible for  want  of  religious  belief.  His 
answer  that  the  oath  is  binding  on  his  con- 
science is  insufficient.  The  law  very  prop- 
erly holds  that  an  infidel  is  not  to  be  be- 
lieved in  a  court  of  justice.  The  witness 
cannot  answer  my  question  affirmatively, 
or  he  would  not  have  wanted  other  infor- 
mation, as  to  the  attributes  of  God,  than 
can  be  found  in  that  sacred  book  —  the 
book  of  Jehovah  Himself— THE  HOLY 
BIBLE ! " 

Vernon  (not  to  be  snowed  under). — "  Your 
Honor  will  at  least  permit  me  to  argue  the 
question  of  admissibility,  on  the  ground 
that  the  oath  is  binding  on  the  conscience. 
Chief-Justice  Abbott,  after  delivering  liis 
opinion,  in  answer  to  the  House  of  Lords, 
in  the  Queen's  case,  added " 

Per   Curiam.  — " Mr.   Vernon,   the 

Court  is  willing  to  hear  you ;  but  its  opin- 
ion cannot  be  changed  by  argument." 

Just  at  this  moment  Vernon's  eye  caught 
sight  of  a  face ;  and  that  face''s  expression 
induced  him  to  yield. 

Vernon. — "  Of  course,  then,"  with  great 
demureness,  "  I  will  not  unnecessarily  con 
same  the  valuable  time  of  the  Court," 


166 


DOLORES. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

From  a  position  in  rear  of  tlie  prisoner's 
dock,  Charles  Bangs  stood  smirking  and 
smiling  and  bowing  to  Vernon.  He  Lad 
arrived  just  in  the  nick  of  time  ;  and  no- 
thing could  have  afforded  the  prisoner's 
counsel  greater  gratification  than  the 
glimpse  of  this  witness  which  he  caught 
when  Judge  Ashe  interrupted  his  argu- 
ment. Still  the  laAvj-er  pretended  not  to 
sec  the  man  for  whose  presence  he  was  to 
pay  twenty -five  hundred  dollars.  He  be- 
came suddenly  blind ;  and  Charles  Bangs 
continued  to  smirk,  smile  and  bow,  endeav- 
oring to  attract  his  attention. 

"  I  am  almost  through  !  "  said  he  to  Mor- 
risson.  "  Ton  have  no  objection  to  my  call- 
ing Mrs.  Adams  back  and  asking  her  one  or 
two  questions.  One  witness  after  that,  and 
I  close  my  case  !  " 

'•  Of  course  not  I  "  said  Morrisson.  "  Call 
her  back  by  all  means." 

"  Mrs.  Adams ! " 

'•  Here !  " 

."  Come  back  to  the  stand,  please — never 
mind  swearing  again — once  is  enough. 
Will  you  state  to  the  Court  and  Jury  if  you 
ever  saw  this  before,"  exhibiting  the  iden- 
tical Salicine  bottle  that  Dolores'  arsenic 
was  sealed  up  in  by  Bangs, — "  and,  if  so, 
when  and  where  ;  how  long  it  was  in  your 
possession  ;  whether  it  is  in  the  same  con- 
dition now  that  it  was  in  when  it  left  your 
possession." 

Mrs.  Adams. — "  I  have  seen  it  before  ! 
When  I  went  with  you  to  visit  the  prisoner, 
after  her  arrest,  she  told  us  it  was  in  her 
cupboard,  on  the  top  shelf,  wrapped  in 
brown  paper.  I  went  with  you  to  her 
house  and  found  it  as  she  said.  At  your 
request,  I  took  it  and  kept  it  in  my  posses- 
sion until  this  morning.  I  gave  it  you  be- 
fore coming  to  Court  to-day.  It  is  in  the 
same  condition  now  that  it  was  in  when  I 
found  it,  except  that  it  was  then  wrapped 
in  brown  paper  and  tied  with  a  string." 

"  That  will  do.  Madam  !  Gentlemen,  you 
can  take  the  witness." 

This  produced  a  flutter  in  Court.  Mor- 
risson and  Woodruff  bobbed  their  heads  to- 
gether and  whispered.  Breathless  silence 
ensued. 


At  length  Morrisson  said :  "  You  can 
stand  aside,  Mrs.  Adams." 

During  all  this  time  Yernon  had  not 
looked  towards  Bangs.  The  prisoner 
seemed  worried,  and  was  apprehensive  lest 
her  counsel  might  close  the  case  in  igno- 
rance of  the  arrival  of  the  witness.  The 
returned  fugitive  was  nervous,  and  shared 
the  prisoner's  fear. 

"  CHARLES  BANGS  !  COME  TO  THE 
BOOK  AND  BE  SWORN ! " 

The  witness  jumped — he  was  startled. 
The  prisoner's  confusion  vanished — She 
was  confident  now.  The  audience  was 
overwhelmed  with  astonishment — it  had 
not  expected  such  a  denouement. 

When  Bangs  stepped  upon  the  witness- 
stand  to  be  sworn,  Vernon  got  up  and 
walked  over  to  him,  and  shook  his  hand, 
and  welcomed  him  Avarmly. 

"  This  is  very  Fortunate ! "  said  Vernon 
in  a  stage  whisper,  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
by  the  entire  crowd.  "  If  you  had  not 
come  the  prisoner  would  have  been  con- 
victed. But  the  Innocent  are  always  pro- 
tected ;  Justice  always  Prevails  ! " 

The  examination  of  this  witness  fol- 
lowed. 

The  facts,  that  the  bottle  produced  was 
the  same  that  he  had  sold  arsenic  to  Mrs. 
Adams — the  prisoner — in,  sealed  and  wrap- 
ped in  brown  paper  ;  that  the  seal  was  the 
same  that  he  had  put  upon  the  cork ;  and 
that,  in  his  opinion,  it  had  never  been 
opened,  were  fully  established  by  his  testi- 
mony. 

Bangs  was  tendered  to  the  Solicitor. 

Morrisson,  who  evidently  believed  that 
this  testimony  was  suborned,  was  thorough- 
ly aroused,  and  determined  to  entrap 
Bangs. 

"  When  did  you  get  here,  Mr.  Bangs  ? ' 
he  thundered,  with  a  gaze  of  indignation. 

"  To-day !  "  replied  the  witness,  meekly. 

Solicitor. — "  Where  do  you  come  from, 
sir  1 " 

Witness.—"  Texas." 

Solicitor. — "  How  did  you  come,  and 
why  ?  " 

Witness. — "  By  railroad  from   New  Or 
leans  to  Raleigh,  and  from  there  on  horf 
back.     I  came  to  attend  this  Court." 

Solicitor. — "  To  testify  in  this  case  ?  " 

Witness. — ''  Yes,  sir." 


DOLORES. 


167 


Solicitor. — "  Are  you  related  to  the  pris- 
oner ;  and,  if  not,  what  induced  the  gener- 
ous impulse  to  come  as  a  witness  for  her, 
all  tlie  way  from  Texas  ? " 

Witness. — "  No,  sir.  I  am  no  kin  to  her. 
I  came  on  Mr.  Vernon's  account. 

Solicitor.—"  Why  ?  " 

Witness. — "He offered  through  an  agent 
in  Galveston,  "whose  advertisement  I  an- 
swered, to  pay  my  expenses  and  give  me 
two  thousand  dollars  if  I  reached  here  in 
time  to  testify  in  this  case." 

Solicitor. — "  Ah  !  ah  !  So  you  are  to  be 
paid  for  this  testimony?  What  tale  did 
Mr.  Vernon  instruct  you  to  tell  ?  " 

Witness  (indignantly). — "None,  sir!  I 
did  not  know  which  side  he  was  on,  and 
have  only  spoken  to  him  since  I  came  upon 
this  stand." 

Solicitor.- — (To  General  Woodruff,  in  a 
whisper) :  "  I  will  have  to  try  him  on  an- 
other tack."  (To  Witness)  :  "  Well,  sir, 
you  said  that  you  know  the  bottle  exhibit- 
ed to  be  the  same  one  in  which  you  sold, 
under  seal,  an  ounce  of  arsenic  to  Mrs. 
Adams — the  prisoner  ;  and  furtliermore 
that  the  cork  has  not  been  drawn  since 
that  sale — how  do  you  know  this  1 " 

Witness. — "  By  the  general  appearance 
of  the  bottle,  the  appearance  of  its  contents, 
and  especially  by  the  seal." 

Solicitor. — "  What  peculiarity  is  there 
about  the  seal  ?  " 

Witness  — "  It  is  stamped  with  a  peculiar 
die." 

Solicitor. —  "  Which  peculiar  die  is  still  at 
Mr.  Edmond's  store,  and  accessible  to  al- 
most everybody  who  might  want  to  borrow 
it?" 

Witness. — "  No,  sir.    It  is  in  my  pocket !" 

Solicitor  (with  evident  surprise). — "  It  is  ? 
And  how  came  it  there,  sir  ? " 

Witness. — "  AVhen  Mrs.  Adams  was  ar- 
rested for  murder,  and  it  leaked  out  that  I 
had  sold  her  arsenic,  I  was  frightened  and 
feared  that  I  had  gotten  into  trouble  by 
selling  the  poison  to  her  ;  so  I  determined 
to  go  to  Texas.  I  left  my  knife  in  a  drawer 
in  one  of  the  store  counters,  and  went  in 
there  at  night  without  a  light  to  get  it  be- 
fore starting.  1  got  what  I  thought  was 
the  knife  ;  but  it  turned  out  to  be  this 
die ! " 


Bangs  held  up  the  die,  which  he  had 
drawn  from  his  pocket. 

Solicitor. — "  When  did  you  leave  here, 
Mr.  Bangs  ?  " 

Witness. — "  About  an  hour  after  I  heard 
of  the  prisoner's  being  taken  up  on  sus- 
picion— the  night  of  the  29th  of  December." 

Solicitor. — "  Are  you  certain  that  the  im- 
pression on  the  seal  of  the  bottle  could  not 
have  been  made  by  any  other  die?  For 
instance,  a  counterfeit  of  this  ?  If  so, 
why  ?  " 

Witness. — "  I  am.  Tliis  has  a  speck  in 
the  D  of  Edmonds — which  is  also  on  the 
seal." 

If  frowns  can  be  said  to  speak,  there  was 
a  fearful  malediction  on  Morrisson's  brow 
when  he  concluded  this  cross-examination. 
Every  question  he  had  asked  strengthened 
Bangs'  story  by  bringing  out  new  and  im- 
portant facts. 

Vernon. — (To  Morrisson,  sotto  voce)  :  "  I 
thank  you,  Mv.  Solicitor,  for  your  very  able 
and  effective  assistance — we  breathe  freely 
now."  (To  Judge  Ashe  :)  "  May  it  please 
your  Honor,  the  prisoner's  case  is  closed 
here." 

"  The  Court  Avill  take  an  hour's  recess  for 
dinner !  "  said  the  Judge ;  and  coming 
down  from  the  bench,  and  joining  the  law- 
yers, he  remarked  :  "  Now  we  shall  have  a 
fair  open  fight  between  you  all  I  " 


CHAPTER   X. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  session  of  the 
court  was  resumed.  The  crowd,  larger 
than  ever,  and  more  excited,  thronged  in 
to  hear  the  speeches. 

General  Woodruff  led  off  in  an  argument 
to  the  jury,  which  occupied  two  hours  in 
its  delivery.  The  case  against  the  accused 
was  presented  in  its  strongest  light ;  the 
break  in  the  chain  of  proof  occasioned  by 
Bangs'  revelations,  was  skillfully  and  adroit- 
ly managed ;  the  discredit  cast  upon  Shys- 
ter's testimony  by  the  cross-examination  of 
Vernon  was  dispelled  ;  the  incident  of  find- 
ing the  letter  and  label  and  the  attempt 


16S 


DOLORES. 


to  connect  Adams  witli  the  murder  was 
mercilessly  ridiculed ;  the  facts  against  the 
prisoner  were  i^owcrfully,  logically,  and 
compactly  presented.  In  a  word  the  speech 
was  a  masterly  effort — the  best  of  the 
General's  life. 

During  the  examination  of  the  witnesses 
the  prejudice  against  Dolores  was  destroyed ; 
but  General  Woodruff's  address  restored 
the  original  unjust  confidence  of  her  guilt. 

The  sympathy  which  Vernon  had  antici- 
pated, did  not  exist  when  he  rose  to  reply. 
His  eye  met  a  cold,  stern,  unpitying  gaze 
from  the  crowd — his  soul  sank  within  him 
for  a  moment — but  when  he  commenced  to 
speak  he  had  suppressed  all  emotion. 

His  first  words — eloquent  words — like  a 
wand,  smote  upon  the  flinty  hearts  of  the 
aiidience,  and  the  water  gushed  forth  at 
his  strokes.  He  stirred  the  depths  of  their 
feeling,  and  the  tears  flowed  down  their 
cheeks. 

First,  he  drcAV  a  picture  of  female  guile- 
lessness  and  innocence  in  the  bloom  and 
loveliness  of  girlhood — sketched  the  out- 
line with  the  vividness  of  perfect  art — filled 
in  the  lights  and  shades,  with  an  exquisite 
sestheticism  —  painted  in  graphic  words 
scene  after  scene,  from  the  life  of  the  priso- 
ner, causing  his  embodiment  of  female 
guilelessness  to  appear  in  them  all,  the 
foremost  figure  in  each — ^his  exordium  was 
a  panoramic  view  of  pure  and  noble  woman- 
hood in  all  its  various  phases.  The  audi- 
ence— ^jury,  judge  and  all — was  led  by  an 
irresistible  spell  to  the  acme  of  admira- 
tion and  sympathy  for  the  character  which 
he  had  portrayed.  Then  in  accents  of 
truth,  he  turned  and  pointed  to  the  felon's 
dock,  and  with  an  impressive  gesture  di- 
rected the  undivided  attention  of  his  hear- 
ers to  its  weeping  tenant. 

"There,  stricken  with  grief,  orphaned, 
hopeless,  despairing,  sits  the  almost  friend- 
less— the  persecuted  subject  of  the  logo- 
graph  which  I  have  so  faintly  presented  to 
your  imaginations.  Not  one  tint,  not  one 
shading,  not  one  line  of  the  portrait  but  is 
the  unexaggerated  reflection  of  that  for- 
lorn woman's  beautiful  life  of  self-sacrifice, 
misfortune,  and  fortitude. 

"  I  thrilled  in  boyhood  under  the  magnetic 
spell  of  her  beauty,  hung  on  the  melody 
that  fell  from  her  guileless  tongue,  gam- 


bolled with  her  amid  the  delightful  land- 
scapes, and  beneath  the  shades  of  the  ma- 
jestic mountains  that  walled  her  girlhood's 
happy  home  ;  I  knew  her  later,  when  her 
charms  matured,  her  powers  of  mind,  and 
her  capacity  of  feeling  expanded  ;  I  watched 
her  when  the  wreath  of  orange  blossoms 
crowned  her  fair  brow  as  she  knelt  at  the 
altar  with  the  heartless  fiend  who  has 
since  then  so  basely  betrayed  her  con- 
fiding love  ;  I  pitied  her  through  the  years 
of  her  uncomplaining  wifehood,  when  the 
lines  of  care,  and  the  traces  of  weeping  on 
her  face  revealed  the  story  which  her  lips 
refused  to  relate — pitied  her  during  the 
years  of  inhuman  maltreatment  which  she 
lived  with  the  devil  who  now  stands  be- 
hind the  Solicitor,  and  here — even  within 
the  sacred  precincts  of  this  Temple  of  Jus- 
tice— continues  to  ply  the  work  of  destruc- 
tion which  he  commenced  with  a  falsehood 
in  his  mouth,  when  he  pledged  her  his  love, 
honor,  and  protection ;  I  found  her  in  a 
distant  State  escaped  from  his  baleful  in- 
fluence, safe  from  his  cruelty,  and,  although 
a  fugitive,  and  pursued  by  detracting  slan- 
der, pure  as  the  cherubs  of  heaven  ;  I  saw 
her,  afterwards,  grossly  wronged — wronged 
too  under  the  shield  of  the  law — by  the 
miscreant  who  has  followed  upon  her  track 
like  a  sleuth  hound,  and  here  hungers  for 
her  blood  ;  and  now  I  behold  her  again- 
victimized,  tortured,  oppressed  by  that  vil- 
lain— hooted  and  denounced  by  a  demoniacal 
mob — the  tenant  of  that  place  which  has 
hitherto  been  occupied  only  by  the  vilest  of 
the  vile.  But  when  I  have  seen  her  else- 
where she  has  been  pure  ;  and,  gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  as  she  was  then— as  she  was 
when  I  knew  her  a  joyous,  laughing  belle 
— the  cynosure  of  a  beauteous  bevy  of  fair  in- 
nocents— pure  as  an  immaculate  character, 
a  chaste  mind,  a  warm  generous  heart  can 
make  anything  human,  I  know  her  to  be 
still  exalted  in  the  possession  of  the  holiest 
attributes  of  true  womanhood — without 
blemish,  undeserving  reproach ! 

"  But  why  has  she  been  imprisoned,  and 
brought  here  to  this  bar?  Of  what  crime 
does  she  stand  arraigned  ?  What  array  of 
proof  confronts  her,  and  proclaims  her  a 
fit  occupant  of  the  criminal's  seat  ? 

"  A  woman  has  suddenly  died ;  a  hasty 
physician  has  denounced  the  nurse  as  a 


DOLORES. 


169 


mtirderess  ;  the  populace — the  fickle  popu- 
lace ! — on  the  qui  vive  for  the  horrible  and 
sensational — taking  up  his  cry — has  shout- 
ed its  anathemas  against  the  accused  wo- 
man ;  dragged  away  from  her  little  child- 
ren, deprived  of  all  sympathy,  prejudged 
even  by  the  conservative  bar,  and  refused 
all  counsel  and  assistance,  she  has  been  in- 
carcerated within  the  cheerless  walls  of  a 
gloomy  prison,  and  brought  thence  to  meet 
the  accusation  in  the  face  of  her  country- 
men. 

"  But,  gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  she  does 
not  shrink  from  the  terrible  ordeal !  Con- 
scious of  her  innocence — the  victim  of  a 
villain's  machinations  and  a  mob's  cajirice 
— she  has  put  herself  on  her  country  for 
trial ;  you,  who  are  that  country,  are  to 
scorn  the  miserable  prejudices  arrayed  for 
her  ruin — you  are  to  make  a  true  deliver- 
ance according  to  the  law  and  evidence. 
Sworn  ministers  of  Justice,  ye  are  ! — not  of 
passion — and  I  conj  ure  you  by  your  oaths 
to  keep  this  fact  in  mind  !  " 

Mr.  Vernon  had  just  concluded  this  ex- 
ordium when  a  messenger  from  Rushbrook, 
breathless  with  excitement,  came  in  and 
handed  him  a  note.  It  was  from  his  moth- 
er !  Col.  Vernon  was  dying,  and  would 
scarcely  live  until  his  son  could  get  home  ! 
While  Roland  was  reading  it,  another 
messenger  came  bringing  a  second  note. 
His  father  was  dead  ! 

The  young  advocate  paused,  thought,  hes- 
itated whether  to  abandon  his  client  or  to 
resist  the  promptings  of  filial  regard.  The 
tears  slowly  coursed  down  his  cheeks  ;  his 
sight  was  dimmed  with  weejiing ;  his  brow, 
his  face  was  blanched  with  grief. 

The  spectators  perceived  his  distress  ;  and 
the  silent  pathos  of  his  manner,  moved  ma- 
ny sympathetic  hearts  to  sorrow.  Still,  the 
cause  was  unknoAvn. 

Roland  decided.  He  walked  to  the  dock 
where  Alice  sat  with  Dolores  and  eent  her 
home  to  his  mother.  He  would  stay,  and 
do  his  duty  to  the  prisoner. 

In  a  few  appropriate  sentences  the  Court 
and  Jury  were  acquainted  with  the  melan- 
choly circumstances  which  had  so  power- 
fully affected  him. 

"  But,  while  I  am  deeply  depressed  by 
this  heavy  calamity,"  he  continued,  "while 
my  faculties  are  thereby  benumbed  and  I 


feel  both  physically  and  mentally  unequal 
to  the  great  responsibility  which  devolves 
upon  me  at  this  imhappy  juncture,  I  must 
not  shrink — and  I  shall  not !  " 
He  then  proceeded  with  great  efl!brt : 
"  The  questions  for  you  to  determine, 
gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  are— First,  Wheth- 
er the  death  of  Susan  Adams  was  produced 
by  poisoning  with  arsenic.  Second,  Wheth- 
er, if  so,  the  arsenic  was  administered  by 
Dolores  Adams — the  prisoner  at  the  bar. 
Third,  Whether,  if  so,  the  arsenic  was  ad- 
ministered willfully,  knowingly,  and  mali- 
ciously." 

Having  stated  these  issues,  Vernon  en- 
tered into  an  able  examination  of  the  first, 
subjecting  the  medical  testimony  to  a  rigid 
review ;  in  which  he  contended  that  Doc- 
tor McPherson  was  not  positive  as  to  the 
cause  of  death,  and  distinctly  refused  to  say 
that  the  post  mortem  investigations  ren- 
dered the  presence  of  arsenic  in  the  stom- 
ach of  the  deceased  as  a  thing  certainly  es- 
tablished, and  argued  that  the  whole  of 
Doctor  Effingham's  testimony  must  be 
thrown  out  as  unworthy  of  credit,  as 
that  witness  had  tacitly  admitted  a  want 
of  religious  belief,  by  refusing  to  answer  a 
question  touching  his  admissibility. 

In  this  part  of  his  argument  the  advocate 
displayed,  by  ample  citation  from  various 
works  of  acknowledged  authority  upon 
questions  of  chemistry,  toxicology,  and 
medical  jurisprudence,  a  depth  of  scientific 
and  professional  reading,  and  an  extent  of 
varied  general  and  legal  information,  which 
took  everybody  by  storm. 

Upon  the  issue  as  to  who  administered 
the  arsenic,  he  showed  that  the  prisoner's 
consternation  and  attempt  to  rush  from  the 
room  was  no  indication  of  her  guilt,  but 
that  it  should  be  attributed  to  another  mo- 
tive— her  astonishment  and  indignation  at 
having  been  entrapped  into  so  humiliating 
a  position  by  the  artifices  of  her  former  hus- 
band ;  and  then  he  dwelt  upon  the  indis- 
i  putable  proof  that  the  arsenic  which  she 
had  purchased  from  Edmond's  store  had 
never  been  used. 

But,  granting  both  of  the  issues  already 
discussed,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  discussion  of  the  last — wheth- 
er, if  she  had  administered  arsenic,  it  was 
given  willfully,  knowingly,  and  malicious- 


170 


DOLORES. 


ly.     In  this  discussion  the  highest  powers 
of  tlie  advocate  were  elicited. 

As  to  the  motive,  he  took  up  the  question 
of  her  marriage  and  divorce,  admitted  the 
facts,  and  then  skillfully  commented,  utter- 
ly destroying  every  suspicion  of  malice,  by 
proving  from  Shyster's  testimony  that  she 
had  never  been  notified  of  the  Connecticut 
divorce,  and  establishing  by  the  testimony 
of  Doctor  McPherson  that  she  not  only  ap- 
peared to  be  ignorant  of  the  identity  of  the 
deceased,  but  that  she  had  reason  to  be, 
from  the  statement  given  her  by  him  when 
he  employed  her. 

Having  destroyed  the  presumption  of  a 
motive,  the  facts  brought  out  from  Bangs 
were  again  alluded  to  and  impressed  in  a 
forcible  review  of  his  revelations  ;  and  the 
position  that,  if  a  motive  had  existed,  the 
means  had  not,  was  assumed  and  strongly 
urged. 

In  concliasion  he  recapitulated  ;  firstly, 
contending  that  there  was  no  proof  of  the 
presence  of  arsenic  in  the  stomach  of  the 
deceased,  and  that  she  did  not  die  from  poi- 
son ;  secondlj',  contending  that  there  was 
no  evidence  that  the  prisoner  administered 
the  poison  ;  thirdly,  contending  that  there 
was  no  malice  in  the  heart  of  the  prisoner 
to  instigate  the  murder. 

"  But  if  the  Jury  is  satisfied  that  the 
death  did  result  from  arsenic,"  he  said, 
"  and  that  the  prisoner  did  administer  the 
arsenic,  and  are  in  doubt  upon  the  last  issue, 
namely,  whether  the  prisoner  was  instigat- 
ed by  malice,  and  gave  the  poison  willfully 
and  knowingly  ;  if  it  is  held  that  a  murder 
has  been  committed,  that  the  prisoner  was 
the  instrument  of  that  murder,  and  if  a 
doubt  that  exists  as  to  her  complicity  may 
be  removed  by  a  hypothesis  which  will  sup- 
pose her  to  have  been  the  victim  of  anoth- 
er's schemings,  such  an  hypothesis  may  be 
eliminated  from  the  evidence  presented  in 
this  trial. 

"  The  husband  of  the  deceased,  by  her 
will,  inherited  her  entire  property ;  that 
property  is  large — there  is  a  motive !  The 
cross-examination  of  the  witness,  Shyster, 
produced  an  imj)ression,  although  it  did  not 
establish,  that  the  husband  bought  arsenic, 
of  liegeman's  clerk,  in  June,  1867 ;  the 
same  cross-examination  proves  the  husband 
to  have  been  guilty  of  an  action  of  such  un- 


natural depravity  as  to  justify  the  confi. 
dence  that  ho  is  capable  of  any  crime,  no 
matter  how  atrocious ;  the  testimony  of 
Davie,  which  attests  that  a  bottle  of  arsenic, 
corresponding  in  description  with  that  al- 
leged to  have  been  bought  by  the  husband, 
was  found  broken  and  lying  near  a  letter 
addressed  to  the  husband,  at  a  time  when 
that  husband  is  known  to  have  recently 
been  in  the  locality  where  these  damning 
proofs  were  found,  connects  this  motive, 
this  alleged  purchase,  and  the  death  con- 
nects these  circumstances  logically,  power- 
fully." 

The  advocate  paused  a  moment;  fixed 
his  penetrating  gaze  upon  Adams,  who  was 
standing  behind  the  solicitor's  chaii- ,-  and 
then  advanced  towards  the  position  that  he 
occupied. 

"If  there  has  been  murder,  gentlemen  of 
the  jury,"  said  he,  as  he  advanced  his 
bright,  cutting,  remorseless  eye,  flashing 
its  indignation  in  withering  glances  that 
blasted  like  the  fearful  strokes  of  the  light- 
ning of  heaven — "if  there  has  been  murder 
done,  the  murderer  does  not  sit  in  yonder 
felon's  dock,  but  he  stands  there  !  there  ! 
THERE ! " 

Adams  recoiled  as  Vernon  approached. 
Every  lineament  of  his  face  confessed 
guilt.  He  trembled  ;  and  great  drops  of 
perspiration  curdled  upon  his  Cain-marked 
brow. 

Vernon  seized  the  occasion.  He  turned, 
and,  in  a  voice  of  thunder  roared  : 

"  KiSE  TIP,  O  Judge  !  Eise,  ye  honest 
Jurymen  !  Rise,  and  mark  the  con- 
fession OF  yonder  Infamous  "Wretch! 
RISE  AND  BEHOLD  THE  MURDER- 
ER!! " 

The  whole  audience  rushed  to  look.  Even 
the  Judge,  startled  out  of  his  usual  dignity 
sprang  to  his  feet.  Ten  of  the  jurymen — 
two  were  packed  after  Vernon's  peremptory 
challenges  were  exhausted — obeyed  the  ad 
vocate's  command.  The  Sheriff  vainly  en- 
deavored to  preserve  decorum. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  contim;ed 
Vernon,  "  he  is  the  murderer.  He  has  put 
away  one  wife  by  divorce.  He  has  put 
away  another  by  poison  !  If  I  live  and 
continue  to  enjoy  the  exercise  of  my  facul- 
ties, I  wiU  see  that  justice  is  done — I  know 
that  the  proof  exists — I  have  the  clue  which 


DOLORES. 


171 


will  enable  me  to  procure  that  proof— and, 
as  I  am  an  liouest  man,  I  will  not  rest  un 
til  his  iniquity  receives  its  penalty  !  Trem- 
ble wretch — tremble  !  Your  doom  is  writ- 
ten !  The  bonds  op  the  prisonek  wili. 
BE  loosened— THE  RIGHT  WILL  PRE- 
VAIL ! " 

If  the  verdict  had  been  taken  when  Ver- 
non sat  down,  not  a  jur}Tnan  would  have 
dared  to  say  Guilty.  Even  the  two  packed 
hirelings,  suborned  with  Paul  Adams' 
money,  would  have  been  forced  to  vote  for 
acquittal. 

It  seemed  that,  at  length,  Vernon's  con- 
fidence that  "  Honesty  triumphs  :  viEainy 
is  punished,"  was  to  be  vindicated. 

So  thinks  the  reader  ?  Be  not  too  quick, 
O  enthusiast !    "Wait ! 

Morrisson  rose  to  reply.  Every  one  was 
astonished.  Woodruff  even,  was  heard  to 
whisper,  "  Hadn't  we  better  give  him  the 
verdict  without  further  contest  ?  " 

Morrisson  was  up.  The  old  lawyer  in- 
tended to  speak.     And  he  did  speak. 

(The  reader  wOl  please  forbear  the  sneer 
at  Morrisson's  expense.  He  was  a  di-unk- 
ard  ;  but  he  had  a  peculiarity :  he  had  a 
wonderful  power  of  recuperation  ;  and,  al- 
though he  was  weak  and  silly,  and  soph- 
omorish  in  his  expressions,  when  not  black- 
guardish,  as  he  was  generally,  while  under 
the  influence  of  liquor,  when  sober  his 
mind  was  strong,  clear,  grasping,  and  never 
impaired  by  the  effects  of  his  debauchery. 
He  was  a  drunkard ;  but  he  had  another 
peculiarity  :  he  never  attempted  to  try  a 
case  unless  while  perfectly  sober.  Hitherto 
the  reader  has  seen  Mr.  Morrisson  during 
his  debauches — now,  indeed,  throughout 
this  trial — the  reader  sees  and  has  seen  Mr. 
Morrisson  intensely  sober.) 

The  speech  was  very  lengthy.  Thirty 
minutes  were  consimied  in  a  dry,  dull, 
seemingly  foolish  exordium ;  but  in  that 
thirty  minutes  he  managed  to  bore  the  re- 
collection of  Vernon's  splendid  eloquence, 
and  the  effect  of  Vernon's  first-rate  acting, 
out  of  the  minds  of  the  jurymen.  Then  he 
commenced  in  earnest. 

He  vindicated  the  prosecution  from  the 
assaults  of  Vernon,  and  reminded  his  au- 
dience that  he  was  a  sworn  officer  of  the 
law,  compelled  by  obligations  of  duty  to 
bring  criminals  to  the  bar  of  justice  for 


trial,  and  to  deal  with  all  offenders  and  al- 
leged offenders  with  inexorable  merciless- 
ness.  He  contended  that  a  good,  substan- 
tial motive,  on  the  part  of  the  accused,  for 
the  commission  of  the  murder,  had  been  es- 
tablished; that  the  very  outrages  which 
she  had  suffered  at  Paul  Adams'  instance, 
as  brought  to  their  attention  by  the  cross- 
examination  of  Shyster,  made  that  motive 
all  the  more  powerful.  He  said  that  it  was 
the  State,  and  not  Paul  Adams,  that  was 
prosecuting,  and,  consequently,  that  the 
facts  implicating  him,  in  cruelty  to  his 
wife,  except  so  far  as  they  strengthened 
her  motive  for  the  deed  with  which  she 
was  charged,  were  foreign  to  the  issue  being 
tried. 

Next,  he  met  Vernon  on  his  own  ground, 
and  overthrew  the  '■'  flimsy  argument  of  this 
pretentious  adversary,"  (his  words !)  by 
proving,  beyond  cavil,  with  full  quotations 
from  the  highest  authorities,  that  the  facts 
related  in  regard  to  the  chemical  tests  and 
their  results  in  the  testimony  of  Doctor 
McPherson,  established  the  presence  of 
arsenic  —  sustaining  Doctor  Effingham's 
opinions  by  profuse  quotations  from  the 
highest  authorities. 

In  proof  of  the  allegation  that  the  arsen- 
ic was  administered  by  the  prisoner,  he  re- 
minded the  Jury  that  the  contents  of  the 
vial  of  Chloroform  Mixture  were  proved  to 
have  been  impregnated  with  arsenic,  and 
that  she  had  confessed  to  having  adminis- 
tered three  doses.  i 

Lastly,  he  grappled  with  the  remaining 
issue — the  only  doubtful  one :  WTiether 
the  prisoner,  she  having  administered  the 
arsenic,  did  so  willfully,  knowingly,  and 
maliciously.  Here  he  claimed  that  he  had 
established  the  others,  and  had  proved  a 
motive  ;  and  reasoning  from  this  proposi- 
tion, he  urged  that  the  purchase  of  the  ar- 
senic from  Bangs  was  a  part  of  a  scheme  to 
sliield  her  from  punishment — that  the  ar- 
senic with  which  she  really  poisoned  the 
deceased  had  been  purchased  weeks  before 
—  and  that  the  Bangs  denouement  was  a 
prepared  artifice  very  creditable  to  her  in- 
genuity. Then  he  ridiculed  Vernon's  at- 
tack on  Adams,  suggested  that  the  young 
advocate  should  try  the  stage  and  take  to 
tragedy.  (Old  wit,  Morrisson — very  old  !) 
attributed  Adams'  paleness  and  excitement 


172 


DOLORES. 


to  Indignation,  painted  the  scene  in  the 
death  chamber  between  the  deceased  and 
her  physicians,  spoke  of  her  tender  cries 
and  entreaties  for  her  liusband's  return, 
dwelt  upon  the  deep  love  that  existed  be- 
tween them  as  attested  by  her  will,  and 
pictured  Paul's  grief  and  despair  when  he 
heard  of  her  death.  Then  flourish  about  the 
necessity  of  checking  crime  and  setting  an 
example  to  evil-doers  ;  flourish  about "  your 
duty  as  sworn  men  ;"  flourish  about  not 
wishing  to  have  the  innocent  punished, 
and  merciful  quotation  about  ninety  and 
nine  guilty  escaping,  etc. ;  grand  flourish 
about  his  certainty  that  this  particular 
prisoner  was  guilty. 

Bob  !  into  his  seat  went  Morrisson  ;  out 
came  his  red  silk  pocket  handkerchief ;  and 
blow  !  blow  !  blow  !  snorted  his  ncse. 

Woodrufl"  picked  up  a  little  and  began  to 
hope  that  there  was  some  chance  left,  after 
all,  of  getting  his  contingent  fee.  Vernon 
dropped  down  a  little,  and  began  to  get  un- 
easy. Crowd  somewhat  mixed.  Jury  ditto. 
Prisoner  calm.    Judge  clear. 

His  Honor  delivered  a  lucid,  impartial 
charge.     He  concluded  as  follows  : 

"To  fix  Guilt  by  Circumstantial  Evi- 
dence, such  as  has  been  presented  in  this 
case,  even  granting  every  alleged  circum- 
stance to  be  true,  it  must  be  of  that  strong 
presumptive  character  which  excludes 
every  reasonable  hypothesis  of  Innocence — 
so  convincing  that  no  additional  circum- 
stances can  alter  the  conclusion  reached. 

"  It  remains  for  you  to  say  whether  all  of 
the  res  cjestce  have  been  brought  out  in  this 
trial,  and  whether  all  of  the  issues  have 
been  affirmed  by  the  proof.  If  you  are  in 
doubt  as  to  the  cause  of  the  death;  or,  as  to 
who  administered  the  arsenic,  if  you  hold 
that  death  resulted  from  that  cause  ;  or,  as 
to  a  uUlful,  knowing,  and  malicioue  giving 
of  arsenic,  if  you  hold  that  death  was  pro- 
duced by  poison  given  by  the  prisoner,  you 
will  render  a  verdict  of  Not  Guilty. " 

The  Court  was  adjourned  for  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

When  the  Jury  retired,  Vernon  left  the 
Court-Room  hurriedly. 

There  was  Grief  at  Rushbrook — Grief 
which  he  shared  too  deeply  for  its  expres- 
sion in  tears  or  its  utterance  in  lamenta- 
tions. Thither  he  bent  his  steps,  not  walk- 
ing, not  running,  but  flying  to  his  mother's 
side — himself  deeply  afflicted,  but  going  to 
carry  comfort,  consolation. 

The  distressed  son  stood  in  the  library  the 
next  morning  gazing  at  the  corpse  of  the 
departed  father  which  lay  there  clad  for  the 
grave  ;  stood  there,  looking  down  upon  the 
prostrate  form,  cold,  i;)ulseless,  inanimate, 
with  a  tender  yearning.  That  father  had 
been  the  sorrowing  son's  ideal  of  all  that 
was  noble  in  presence,  pure  in  thought, 
lofty  in  impulse,  grand  in  intellect,  chival- 
rous in  action,  manly,  generous,  knightly, 
beautifully  gentle  and  brave. 

Roland  stood  there  ;  but  he  did  not  weep. 
He  bent  down  and  kissed  the  marble  fore- 
head, kissed  the  hueless  lips  now  chilled 
by  the  icy  touch  of  the  great  Annihilator. 

Alice's  bright-eyed,  golden-haired  boys 
stood  awe-struck  on  either  side  of  their 
father,  aware  that  they  were  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Death,  but  scarcely  conscious  of  the 
nature  of  the  Eternal  Separation  which  was 
to  part  them  from  the  indulgent  grandsire 
who  had  used  to  sport  them  on  his  knee, 
had  made  them  wreathe  their  little  arms 
around  his  neck,  had  prized  their  caresses, 
fondled  them  with  tenderness,  romped  with 
them  on  the  lawn,  riding  them  doubled 
astride  his  brawny  breast,  while  he  laid 
aside  dignity,  to  forget  in  the  joyous  delight 
of  domestic  abandon,  that  he  was  a  celeb- 
rity. 

Vernon  took  these  boys  by  the  hand  and 
led  them  nearer  to  the  corpse,  and  in  turn 
lifted  each  of  them  up  to  let  them  kiss  the 
princely  gentleman,  who,  even  in  death, 
smiled  a  wealth  of  benevolent  love  upon 
the  world  from  whence  he  had  gone. 

"  My  little  sons,"  said  he  in  that  subdued 
tone  which  proclaims  a  suppressed  emotion 
— a  tone  that  even  these  light-hearted  child- 
ren could  translate,  and  which  filled  them 
with  the  deep  pathos  of  awe,  "  your  grand- 
father is  dead.  To  be  dead  is  to  have  to  go 
away  from  the  home  that  has  known  you, 


DOLOEES. 


173 


from  the  sight  of  the  friends  who  have  loved 
you,  from  the  associations  that  have  clus- 
tered around  you  ;  and  to  become  the  ten- 
ant of  a  cheerless,  damp,  dark  home  in  the 
Grave.  To  die  is  to  pass  away,  to  be  for- 
gotten, to  be  unmissed.  I  ask  you,  my 
sons,  not  to  doom  Jiim  to  such  a  fate. 
Gather  up  the  threads  of  memory  and 
weave  them  with  the  woof  of  love  into  an 
imperishable  fabric,  in  which  to  clothe 
your  fancies,  your  aspirations,  your  lives  ; 
and  the  holy  influence  of  his  example,  so 
preserved  to  your  use,  will  be  a  panoply 
as  invulnerable  as  Achilles'  breast." 

"  If  I  live  till  you  grow  older,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  I  will  endeavor  to  fill  your  minds 
with  pictures  of  his  life.  If  I  die,  you  must 
obtain  these  from  conversations  with  oth- 
ers. I  want  you  to  grow  up  to  be  proud 
that  his  blood  courses  through  your  arte- 
ries !  " 

Then  Vernon  swept  his  hand  towards 
the  portraits  still  hanging  on  the  walls  of 
the  library,  and  added,  pointing  to  a  mirror 
at  the  end  of  the  room  : 

"  Look  in  that  glass  at  your  own  images, 
and  then  at  those  portraits.  Do  you  not 
see  the  close  resemblance  ?  The  men  of 
those  portraits  were  gentlemen  :  Be  like 
them  in  all  things ! " 

Saying  this,  Roland  Vernon,  accompanied 
by  his  children,  withdrew  :  The  boys,  to 
ponder  with  precocious  thought  upon  his 
words.  The  father,  to  answer  a  summons 
which  duty  compelled  him  to  obey. 

The  Jury  had  not  yet  agreed  upon  a  ver- 
dict ;  but  it  was  expected  to  agree  that 
afternoon.  Judge  Ashe  had  sent  to  Ver- 
non to  say  that  he  had  better  come  into 
town,  if  he  desired  to  appeal  in  the  event 
of  an  unfavorable  result.  It  was  to  attend 
to  this  matter  that  lie  prepared  to  go  to 
the  courthouse. 

When  Vernon  entered  the  bar  about  half 
past  three,  he  was  immediately  besieged  by 
a  crowd  of  litigants  in  important  suits  in 
his  own  and  adjacent  counties,  who  made 
him  exceedingly  flattering  oflTers  of  retain- 
er, and  these  were  so  numerous,  and  the 
gratifying  demonstrations  of  the  popular 
estimation  of  his  recent  effort  were  so  uni- 
versal, that  he  was  justified  in  anticipating 
an  immediate  career  of  lucratively  success- 
ful practice  in  his  profession. 


In  the  meantime,  Jane  Blount  had  turned 
up  in  answer  to  an  advertisement  from  Ver- 
non ;  and  her  depositions,  together  with 
the  document  restored  by  Courtnay,  whose 
fit  of  spleen  had  ended  in  a  day  or  two 
after  his  break  with  Roland,  were  likely  to 
prove  that  Morrisson  was  the  son  of  a  sister 
of  the  Mary  Morrisson  for  whose  issue 
James  Leigh  had  made  provision,  and  that 
he  had  been  foisted  u,pon  Leigh  and  his 
heir,  as  the  illegitimate  offspring  of  the 
faitx  ])as  which  the  old  gentleman  had  de- 
plored so  deeply  and  repented  so  completely 
— in  which  event  Roland  could  recover  from 
Morrisson,  not  only  what  he  had  j)aid  him, 
but,  also,  whatever  had  been  paid  him  dur- 
ing the  life-time  of  Mr.  Leigh.  This  with 
interest  would  amount  to  many  thousand 
dollars — a  fortune  quite  sufficient  to  restore 
the  family  to  their  ancient  happiness  and 
ease. 

So  it  appeared  that  Fortune  was  to  re- 
main inexorable  no  longer  ;  that  the  man 
of  benevolence,  virtue,  and  charity,  infidel 
though  he  was,  had  at  last  attained,  through 
good  works,  a  prospect  of  reward  for  long 
suffering  endurance. 

Roland  was  within  grasp  of  the  goal  of 
his  ambition.  His  only  lingering  sorrows 
were  the  doubt  as  to  Dolores'  acquittal,  and 
the  loss  of  his  father  at  the  moment  of  his 
triumph. 

While  waiting  for  the  verdict  with  ex- 
treme impatience,  Vernon  was  approached 
by  Jock  Wright. 

"  So  Paul  Adams  has  cut  out ! "  said 
Jock,  after  some  conversation  with  his 
friend.  "  He  was  afraid  the  Sheriff  would 
nab  him  if  he  staid.  I  say,  Roland,  how 
you  did  slash  him  ! " 

"  Curse  him  !  "  replied  Vernon,  with  a 
scowl  of  fury.  "  Curse  him  !  I  will  hang 
him  yet !  Crime  !  crime  !  crime !  His 
whole  record  is  written  in  selfish  deeds,  du- 
plicity, depravity,  and  crime !  So  he  has 
rmi  away  1    Where  has  he  gone,  Jock  ?  " 

"  To  Canada,  I  presume." 

"  Make  way  for  the  Jury  there ! "  thun- 
dered the  Sheriff,  interrupting  the  dis- 
course of  the  friends  with  his  com- 
mand. 

They  turned  to  behold  the  twelve  march 
in  and  take  their  seats  in  the  box. 

The  Clerk  rose  and  called  the  roll ;  and. 


174 


DOLORES. 


having  ascertained  that  all  of  the  Jury 
were  present,  he  added  : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  have  you  agreed 
upon  a  verdict  ?  " 

The  twelve  nodded  their  heads. 

Clerk  (still  standing).—"  Who  shall  say 
for  you?" 

Jury. — '•  The  foreman." 

The  prisoner  was  directed  to  rise  and 
hold  up  her  right  hand. 

Clerk  (M-ith.  eni2iressement). — "  Look  upon 
the  prisoner,  you  that  have  been  sworn ! 
What  say  you — is  she  guilty  of  the  felony 
whereof  she  stands  indicted,  or  not  guilty  ?  " 

Foreman.—"  NOT  GUILTY  !  " 

Clerk. — "  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  hearken 
to  your  verdict  as  the  Court  has  recorded 
it :  '  The  Jury  says  that  Dolores  Adams  is 
not  guilty  of  the  felony  of  murder  whereof 
she  stands  indicted.'     So  say  you  all  ?  " 

Judge  Ashe. — "  Mr.  Sheriff,  discharge  the 
prisoner  from  custody." 

During  the  arraignment  a  breathless  si- 
lence was  preserved  in  the  court-room,  and 
not  a  sound  save  the  voices  of  Clerk,  Jury- 
men, and  Judge,  was  to  be  heard.  The  crowd 
stood  spell-bound  with  intense  interest  and 
excitement.  But  the  great  heart  of  the 
sympathetic,  easily-moved  populace,  im- 
pelled by  a  deep  emotion,  despite  its  strong 
original  prejudices,  gave  a  thump  of  joy, 
when  the  prisoner  was  released  ;  and  a 
wild  shout  rang  through  the  Hall  of  Justice. 

Throughout  the  proceedings  commenced 
by  the  calling  of  the  Jury,  Vernon  had 
been  sitting  like  one  dumb,  gazing  with  an 
affrighted  stare.  When  the  crowd  shouted, 
however,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  with  a 
blazing  eye  glared  around  him,  and  then 
screamed,  "Safe!  SAFE!"  .  The  next 
minute  he  seized  a  heavy  court  chair  and 
hurled  it  with  great  power  at  the  Solicitor; 
following  this  action  with  a  chilling,  horri- 
fying, ferocious  laiigh. 

The  successful  adtocate  was  a  ma- 

KIAC! 


CHAPTER  XH. 

The  excitement  of   the   trial,   and  the 
sense  of  responsibility  which  his  connection 


with  Dolores'  case  had  produced,  sustained 
Vernon  up  to  this  moment.  But  when 
there  was  no  further  immediate  requisition 
for  the  exercise  of  his  brilliant  faculties, 
when  the  almost  invincible  will  had  no 
further  need  of  asserting  its  control  over 
his  mind,  his  intellect  was  immediately 
overthrown. 

The  mania  was  not  of  a  sullen,  moody 
sort ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  character- 
ized with  great  violence. 

Vernon  was  dangerous  ;  and  the  asylum, 
the  straight-jacket,  the  manacles,  had  to  be 
employed,  not  only  to  insure  the  lives  of 
the  family  at  Rushbrook,  but  to  prevent 
him  from  resorting  to  seK-destruction. 

Oh,  horrible  fate  !  "  Let  us  not  pause  to 
contemplate  the  shocking  details  !  Let  us 
shudder  and  pass  on  ! 

Cruel  blow !  Unfortunate  stroke  of  ma- 
lignant destiny  !  Its  results  were  not  only 
ruinous  to  the  victim  of  the  blighting  in- 
sanity— they  overwhelmed  the  whole  of 
the  circle  from  which  Vernon  was  taken 
with  crushing  calamities. 

The  money  raised  by  mortgaging  Rush- 
brook  fell  due  ;  only  half  of  the  sum — that 
part  not  claimed  by  Brown,  who  did  not 
answer  Roland's  advertisement — could  be 
paid ;  and  the  mortgagee  gave  the  legal 
notice,  and  intended  to  sell. 

The  hope  of  recovering  the  money  fraudu- 
lently claimed  and  received  by  Morrisson, 
died  when  Vernon  lost  his  reason. 

The  determination  to  hunt  down  Paul 
Adams,  to  pursue  the  search  for  testimony 
against  him,  and  to  brand  him  with  his 
crimes,  could  not  be  executed.  Roland 
only  possessed  the  clues  to  the  evidence 
which  existed. 

Then  Mrs.  Vernon,  Mrs.  Adams,  Alice 
and  her  children,  Dolores  and  her  children, 
were  left  with  no  protection,  all  unused  to 
the  struggle  with  want,  yet  all  plunged 
into  extreme  poverty. 

How  severe,  0  God!  in  thy  chastise- 
ments ! 

One  person  rejoiced  over  the  misfortune 
which  produced  this  woe — one  devU  gloat- 
ed— gloated,  because  Vernon's  madness  was 
his  safety. 

Paul  Adams  was  glad ! 

He  had  taken  refuge  in  Canada,  whence 


DOLORES. 


175 


he  wrote  to  a  secret  agent,  and  ordered  the 
eale  of  his  property,  and  had  all  his  effects 
converted  into  cash,  so  that  he  might  readi- 
ly make  further  flight  if  Vernon  should 
recover,  and  send  the  ofliccrs  of  the  law  to 
brmg  him  to  justice.  Here  he  was  in- 
formed after  a  lapse  of  several  weeks,  that 
Vernon's  malady  was  pronounced  incurable ; 
and  upon  the  reception  of  this  intelligence 
— ineffably  sweet  to  him,  because  it  was  at 
the  same  time  an  assurance  of  safety  and 
a  gratification  of  a  long  rankling  revenge 
— he  reposed  in  fancied  security. 

In  this  frame  of  mind,  quietly  and  se- 
renely, Paul  Adams  continued  until  the 
10th  of  August,  when  he  received  a  letter 
from  kis  agent  telling  him  that  Vernon 
was  rapidly  recovering  his  reason,  and  that 
the  physician  to  the  Asylum  had  written 
for  his  wife  and  children  to  go  to  him,  be- 
lieving that  a  visit  from  them  would  hasten 
a  restoration,  and  expressing  the  opinion 
that  they  would  be  able  to  carry  him  home. 

Adams  telegraphed  to  the  agent  to  keep 
him  posted  every  three  hours  by  telegraph 
as  to  the  changes  in  Vernon's  status  ;  and 
with  this  precaution,  and  his  trmik  packed, 
he  waited — ready  to  make  good  his  flight. 

Once  more  it  seemed  to  Alice,  when  she 
received  the  letter  from  the  physician  to 
the  Asylum,  which  announced  her  hus- 
band's improvement,  that  Eoland's  sub- 
lime belief  that  violated  law  will  vindicate 
itself — that  right  will  prevail — was  founded 
in  wisdom  and  truth. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

When  Alice  Vernon  was  apprized  of 
the  prospect  of  her  husband's  recovery, 
she  immediately  hastened  to  him,  taking 
both  her  sons  —  hastened  wdth  a  happy 
heart  and  cheerful  expectations. 

The  journey  was  made  comfortably ; 
and  she  sat  in  the  reception  room  of  the 
Asylum,  waiting  for  the  Superintendent, 
who  had  gone  to  announce  her  arrival. 

Alice  had  nerved  herself  for  the  meet- 
ing, and  mastered  her  emotions ;  still  the 
yearning,  passionate  love,  that  she  bore  her 


husband  sparkled  in  her  eye,  and  shook 
her  frame  with  a  tremor  of  anxiety. 

"  This  way,  Mrs.  Vernon  !  " 

The  wife  rose  with  her  children  cling- 
ing to  her  hands,  and  followed  the  physi- 
cian. Her  step  was  firm;  she  was  braced 
for  the  interview ;  and  was  even  prepared 
for  disappointment. 

"  In  there,  if  you  please.  Ma'am !  "  said 
the  Superintendent,  pointing  to  a  door  be- 
fore which  the  party  halted,  after  passing 
through  a  long  corridor.  "  You  will  find 
Mr.  Vernon  prepared  to  meet  you.  He  is 
perfectly  harmless ! " 

Alice  turned  the  knob  and  entered. 

"My  husband!  —  my  dear,  dear  hus- 
band !  "  she  cried  as  she  boimded  to  his 
side. 

Vernon  sprang  forward  to  meet  her,  and 
the  eyes  that  had  glistened  with  such  an  ap- 
palling light  the  afternoon  of  the  rendition  of 
the  verdict,  now  beamed  with  a  glow  of 
love  and  gentleness,  and  the  face  whose 
contortions  had  been  so  horrible  then  was 
eloquent  now  with  radiant  joy. 

"  My  sweet  wife  !     My  darling  boys !  " 

And  the  husband  and  wife  embraced. 

Alas !  The  effect  of  this  sudden  transi- 
tion from  deep  sadness  to  intense  happiness, 
while  not  deleterious  to  Alice,  was  too  much 
for  poor  Roland.  He  murmured  a  few 
blessed  words  of  rapturous  delight ;  and 
then  his  mind  wandered  again ;  and 
then — oh,  torture  of  tortures  to  the  wife  ! 
— he  was  convulsed  with  a  new  fury  of  in- 
sanity. 

"  Back,  woman  —  back  !  "  he  cried. — 
"  What !  Do  you  come  to  mock  my  woe  ? 
Do  you  bring  those  children  here  to  taunt 
me  with  my  misfortune — to  make  them 
hate  me  becaitse  I  have  not  provided  for 
their  wants  ?  " 

Alice  screamed  and  fainted.  The  maniac 
paused,  and  a  gush  of  tenderness  followed 
his  paroxysm  of  fury. 

The  keepers  rushed  in  and  seized  him. 

During  all  this  time  the  children  looked 
upon  the  scene  with  amazement  and  terror, 

Alice  recovered.  Vernon  was'  about  to 
be  taken  away.  He  reached  the  door  ;  he 
hesitated ;  he  turned  around  and  spoke  to 
her: 

•'  It  has  not  been  my  fault,  my  wife,  that 


I  have  failed ! 


I  have  not  been  unwilling 


176 


DOLORES. 


to  work  for  you  and  for  tliem.  But  I  start- 
ed wrong — I  tried  to  be  lionest  and  at  tlie 
same  time  to  succeed.  I  aspired  to  accom- 
plish an  impossibility !  " 

The  keepers  again  tried  to  conduct  him 
away.  He  luirled  them  from  him.  He  ad- 
vanced towards  Alice. 

She  recoiled. 

He  stopped  and  sadly  addressed  her  : 

"  Don't  let  them  be  gentlemen  !  My 
grandfather  on  his  death-bed  made  me  take 
an  oath  to  be  a  man  of  honor,  and  never  to 
stain  the  reputation  of  the  Leigh  family. 
The  attempted  fulfillment  of  that  oath  has 
made  me  what  I  am  !  " 

He  laughed  bitterly ;  and  then  seriously 
added : 

"  Teach  jit  childrex  to  be  yillaixs 
— then  they  "will  be  happy !  " 

Alice  again  fainted.  The  lunatic  was  led 
from  the  room. 


"Ma,  sha'n't  we  take  poor  Pa  home?" 
asked  the  eldest  boy  when  his  mother  re- 
covered. >  "They  treat  him  so  roughly 
here  !  " 

"Oh  God!  oh!  oh!  oh!"  sobbed  Alice 
in  reply.     "  Oh,  we  shall  see  him  no  more." 


Adams'  faithful  agent  and  detective  as- 
certained the  next  day  that  Mrs.  Vernon 
had  returned  home  without  her  husband, 
and  that  his  condition  was  more  hopeless 
than  ever. 

This  information  was  dispatched  imme- 
diately to  the  murderer ;  and  he  relapsed 
into  his  accustomed  serenity. 

"  Ha !  ha !  "  rejoiced  the  villain.  "  1 
knew  mine  to  be  the  best  policy.  This  is 
the  way  that  the  Right  prevails  !  Ha  !  ha ! 
ha !  He  is  a  failure — the  result  of  Honesty  : 
I  am  ia  success — Brains!  " 


POSTSCRIPT. 


(note.— The  Editor,  when  he  originally  undertook  the  labor  of  preparing  the  fore- 
going books  for  the  press,  had  not  anticipated  the  possibility  of  the  pleasant  changes 
which  a  few  months  have  wrought,  and  had  not  expected  to  continue  this  narrative 
farther  than  to  the  conclusion  of  Book  VI.  Fortunately,  however,  within  the  last  week, 
a  visit  to  the  Vernons  has  supplied  him  with  the  facts  related  in  the  following 
Postscript.  He  congratulates  his  readers  that  circumstances  have  enabled  him  to  end 
this  story  of  Griefs,  with  the  brief  announcement  that  Sorrowing  has  been  replaced  by 

Rejoicing  at  Rushbrook. 

B.  R.\ 

NOYEMBEK   10,   1868.)  Z 


Time:  October,  28th,  1868.  Scene: 
Rushbrook.  Dramatis  Persons:  The 
Vernons  and  their  Friends. 

Over  the  house-top,  as  of  old ;  upon  the 
many-hued  leaves  of  the  frost-touched  trees 
in  the  park  ;  flooding  the  vines  and  ripened 
corn  in  the  background  of  the  landscape ; 
and  making  all  Nature  effulgent,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  the  declining  autumn 
sun  poured  its  radiance  of  gladness  and 
brightness. 

Sunshine  everywhere ! 

Sunshine  !  Even  in  that  heart  wherein 
deep  Gloom  had  recently  made  its  fixed 
abode — -that  heart  whence  Hope  bad  taken 
its  departure  months  ago — the  heart  of  the 
lately  miserable,  but  now  happy,  Alice 
Vernon. 

Roland  Vernon  is  back  at  Rushbrook  ! 

In  the  home  of  his  ancestors  he  once 
more  reigns  master.  Better  than  this,  even, 
his  reason  is  restored.  Aye  1  and  Fortune, 
12 


so  long  un propitious,  now  smiles  upon  him 
kindly ;  while  Prosperity,  which  had  so 
long  deserted  him,  is  again  at  his  side,  a 
sworn  friend. 

Roland,  as  he  was  wont  to  do  in  the  days  of 
yore,  stands  beneath  the  shades  of  the  cedar- 
arched  avenue.  Alice  and  her  children  are 
with  him,  looking  serenely  upon  the  pictur 
esque  scene  that  lies  stretched  beneath  their 
gaze.  All  are  silent.  They  are  reflecting, 
perhaps,  upon  the  horrible,  horrible  Past. 

Look  at  Roland  !  Scan  his  features,  as 
his  eye,  in  quiet  contemplation,  sweeps  the 
horizon  !  There  is  no  trace  of  the  shadow 
of  unhappiness  that  used  to  darken  his 
brow — there  is  no  token  of  the  old  anx? 
iety  and  sadness,  which  clouded  the  mom"-- 
ing  of  his  young  life. 

As  the  Husband,  so  the  Wife — ^^her  face 
reflects  the  unalloyed  joy  of  her  heart ! 

As  the  Parents,  so  the  Children — they  too 
seem  far  removed  from  all  thoughts  of  their 
late  sorrows  I 


178 


POSTSCRIPT. 


Indeed,  the  Picture  ia  of  complete  Hap- 
piness I 

But  pause — Alice  is  about  to  speak.  Ap- 
proach !  Listen !  Her  voice  is  musical 
with  sweet  symphonies  of  Hope  and 
Love. 

"  My  sufiFerings,"  she  says,  resting  lier 
thin  white  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  her 
husband,  and  looking  down  into  the  depths 
of  his  soiil  through  his  eyes,  "  my  sufferings 
are  amply  compensated  by  the  delight 
which  your  return  has  afforded.  This  joy 
fully  repays  me  for  all  the  misery  which  I 
have  been  compelled  to  endure.  Now,  we 
shall  be  supremely  happy,  because  we  shall 
be  separated  no  more.  Nothing  on  earth 
will  ever  induce  me  to  let  you  leave  me 
again.     Life  together  ;  or  Death  !  " 

Roland  clasps  her  to  his  bosom,  encircles 
her  slender  waist  with  his  arm,  kisses  her 
over  and  over  again,  and  replies  warm- 
ly: 

"  Aye,  my  precious  wife  L  Life  together  ; 
or  Death  !  Here,  hedged  in  from  the  world 
by  the  confines  of  our  own  domain,  forsak- 
ing all  worldly  connections  and  all  worldly 
ambitions,  leaving  all  worldly  battles  for 
others  to  fight,  we  will  abide  together 
hand  in  hand.  Honors  !  Applause !  Fame  ! 
Mere  rattles  for  grown  babes — we  shall  not 
need  them  here  to  make  us  blessed.  So- 
cial Obligations !  Patriotism  !  They  have 
cost  us  too  much  heart-wear  already  ;  they 
are  luxuries  that  we  cannot  afford  to  enjoy. 
Away  with  all  sentiments  and  passions, 
save  love  for  each  other  and  our  children, 
and  affection  for  the  few  tried  friends 
whose  tears  have  mingled  with  our  own, 
and  who  have  shared  our  joys.  All  else 
is  Vanity ! " 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  bo,  Ro- 
land," replied  the  wife.  "  Your  resolution 
approves  my  judgment  ;  for  I  have  so  longed 
to  live  as  your  expressions  indicate,  al- 
though I  have  feared  to  commimicate  my 
thoughts,  lest  you  might  still  desire  to 
strive  for  the  valueless  prizes  that  lured 
you  to  effort  in  those  dreadful  days  before 
— before  your  father's  death." 

"  Foolish  fear !  No,  no,  my  wife — the 
distempered  dream  is  at  an  end  !  My  am- 
bition, save  for  the  regard  of  those  few  that 
I  love,  and  for  the  comforts  of  life,  has  left 
me  forever." 


"  Thank  God,  my  prayers  are  realized  I 
You  have  the  means  to  live  now  in  quiet — 
but  how  very,  very  strange  that  circum- 
stances should  have  so  wonderfully  com- 
bined to  restore  your  fortune !  " 

"Strange!  Strange,  indeed,  Alice  !  But 
do  you  know,  dearest,  that  I  have,  as  yet, 
received  no  information  as  to  this  favor- 
able change — that  I  neither  know  its  ex- 
tent, nor  the  agencies  through  which  it 
has  been  accomplished  ?  Tell  me,  darling, 
of  this  mysterious  restitution.  Let  me 
first  hear  from  your  lips  the  particulars  of 
my  good  fortune.  I  remember  very  dis- 
tinctly that  Rushbrook  was  mortgaged  to 
raise  money  ;  that  only  half  of  the  debt 
could  have  been  paid  so  as  to  cancel  the 
mortgage,  as  twenty-five  hundred  dollars 
were  expended  in  obtaining  the  attendance 
of  the  witness,  whose  testimony  secured 
the  acquittal  of  Dolores  ;  that  the  mort- 
gagee had  a  power  of  sale,  upon  thirty  days' 
notice,  imless  the  money  was  refunded  by 
the  first  of  July — I  remember  all  this  very, 
very  distinctly.  Then  tell  me  how  it  hap- 
pened that  the  dear  old  place  escaped  a 
sale  ? " 

"  It  did  not— it  was  sold ! " 

"  And  was  bought  by ?  " 

"  Mr.  Morrisson !  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  And  he,  with  a  great  many  professions 
of  sympathy  for  us,  and  friendship  for 
you " 

" Refused  to  have  our  family  vacate  ?  " 

" No.      Expressed    his    regret    that 

he  was  compelled  to  request  our  im- 
mediate vacation  of  the  premises.  Your 
mother  —  we  had  vacated  the  premises 
the  day  before  the  sale  —  assumed  her 
haughtiest  manner,  and  told  him  that 
everything  was  tTien  ready  for  his  assertion 
of  ownership,  and  wished  him  a  lofty 
'  Good  morning  ! "  He  retired  immediate- 
ly, and  since  then  none  of  us  have  seen  the 
old  monster." 

"  WeU,  how  did  you  regain  posses- 
sion?" 

"  Before  the  sale,  several  months,  as  you 
know,  the  State  adopted  a  new  Constitu- 
tion, and  Judge  Ashe  lost  his  oflBce  by  the 

change.     Well  he  came  back  to  C tovm 

to  live,  and  resumed  the  practice  of  law. 
You  were  away,  and.  of  course,  we  were  ia 


POSTSCRIPT. 


173 


great  distress ;  so  he  was  a  frequent 
^sitor  at  Rushbrook,  and  a  counsellor  in 
your  absence.  One  day,  while  he  was 
here,  mother  spoke  of  some  curious 
manuscripts  which  she  had  found  among 
your  things  —  a  letter  from  a  woman  by 
the  name  of  Blount ;  an  unsigned  letter, 
dated,  New  York,  referring  you  to  this 
Blount  woman  ;  and  a  sealed  package, 
marked  '  The  James  Leigh  Trust,'  with, 
perhaps,  a  few  others.  Judge  Ashe 
said  that  it  was  possible  that  they 
might  contain  valuable  information,  and 
mother  gave  them  to  him  to  read.  He 
took  them  away,  and  we  heard  nothing 
more  concerning  them  untO  about  six  weeks 
ago,  when  he  came  one  day  and  said  that 
the  papers  proved  Mr.  Morrisson  to  be 
ieavily  in  debt  to  you,  and  to  your  grand- 
father's estate ;  and  that  Mr.  Morrisson 
•wished  to  compromise  by  paying  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  in  cash,  and  giving  you  the 
title  to  Rushbrook.  Judge  Ashe  had  been 
appointed  your  guardian,  or  something  of 
the  sort,  by  the  Court,  and  had  the  power 
to  act  for  you,  but  was  unwilling  to  do  so 
•without  consulting  us.  Mother  and  I  ad 
vised  him  to  accept  Mr.  Morrisson's  propo- 
sition, and  pledged  ourselves  to  make  it 
satisfactory  to  you  upon  your  return.  The 
«nd  of  it  all  was  that  we  got  Rushbrook, 
and  the  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  Mr.  Mor- 
risson got  a  release  from  his  indebtedness. 
It  was  a  great  gratification  to  us  to  get  back 
to  Rushbrook  ;  but,  my  precious  husband, 
we  were  not  happy  until  you  returned,  re- 
stored to  health." 

Roland  tightened  his  embrace,  gave  Alice 
a  kiss,  and  she  proceeded  : 

"  We  found  out  afterwards  that  there 
was  a  John  Morrisson,  who  died  when  a 
child,  that  was  entitled  to  receive  money 
from  your  grandfather,  for  some  reason 
that  Judge  Ashe  didn't  tell  us  ;  and  that 
the  mother  of  that  John  Morrisson  kept  aD 
knowledge  of  his  death  from  everybody, 
but  the  Blount  woman,  and  a  sister  who 
had  a  son  of  the  same  age.  That  son — the 
John  Morrisson  that  we  know — was  passed 
off  for  the  dead  child,  and  got  money  that 
ought  to  have  gone  to  the  other.  Judge 
Ashe  ascertained  this  from  the  statements 
of  the  Blount  woman  ;  and,  charging  Mr. 
Morrisson  with  Fraud,  and  threatening  to 


expose  him  if  he  did  not  comply,  he  de- 
manded restitution  of  all  the  money  ob- 
tained through  the  subterfuge." 

Alice  paused.  Roland  glanced  at  her 
face  and  saw  that  she  had  something  else 
to  tell. 

"  Go  on — tell  me  the  rest !  "  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  Alice  proceeded,  "  'It 
never  Rains  but  it  Pours.'  We  had  more 
good  luck." 

"  More  good  luck  !  'What  was  that  ?  " 
"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?  When  we 
came  back  here  and  had  been  re-installed 
for  about  two  weeks,  mother  received  a  let- 
ter from  a  Mr.  Fairchild  in  Vermont.  The 
letter  informed  her  that  your  grandfather 
— Louis  Vernon,  left  an  estate  of  about 
forty  thousand  dollars,  when  he  died,  which, 
he  gave  by  his  Vill  to  his  only  daughter — 
Mr.  Fairchild's  mother.  This  estate,  at  her 
death,  however,  was  to  be  divided  between 
all  of  his  heirs-at-law.  She  had  just  died, 
and,  as  most  of  your  father's  brothers  had 
died  previously,  leaving  no  issue,  you,  as 
the  personal  representative  of  your  father, 
were  entitled  to  one  third  of  the  property. 
Since  your  grandfather's  death,  it  has  so 
much  increased  in  value  as  to  make  your 
distributive  share  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars.  The  money  is  not  yet  in  Judge 
Ashe's  hands  ;  but  he  has  taken  steps  to 
secure  it,  and  says  it  will  soon  come  into 
his  possession.  Wonderful,  isn't  it  ?  " 
"  Wonderful !  Miraculous !  " 
Roland  uttered  these  exclamations  ;  and 
then  he  pinched  himself  to  test  whether  he 
was  awake  or  dreaming. 

"  Besides  this,"  Alice  continued,  "  youi 
mother  has  received  a  legacy  of  seven  thou- 
sand dollars  from  one  of  her  Virginia  rela- 
tives— an  uncle,  or  cousin,  I  believe,  and  a 
descendant  of  a  brother  of  your  grandfather 
Vernon." 

"  More  wonderful .     More  miraculous  !  " 
Roland  drooped  his  head  upon  his  breaBt 
and  pondered  deeply  upon  what  he  had  just 
heard  from  his  wife. 

"  Strange  ! "  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
look  of  abstraction.  "  Very  strange  !  There 
is  no  Chance !  There  is  no  Fate !  Yet 
there  is  a  great  Law  of  Blood  to  constraia 
us  and  shape  our  ends ! " 
Alice  interrupted  Roland's  musings  : 


180 


POSTSCRIPT. 


"  See,"  she  cried,  pointing  to  the  gate, 
"there  come  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wriglit !  " 

"  Who  ?"  inquired  her  husband,  with  a 
start  of  surprise. 

"  Why,  Jock  Wright  and  his  wife — 
Belle  Woodruff!  " 

"  Oh,  they  are  married  at  last,  are  they  ? 
How  well  and  how  happy  they  look  I — 
Why,  Jock — old  fellow,  I  am  glad  to  see 
you — very  glad  !  " 

"  And  I,  to  see  you,  Roland,"  cried  Jock, 
grasping  his  friend's  hand.  "  How  have 
you  been  ?  Well  ?  Of  course  you  have, 
though  ;  for  your  looks  tell  the  story.    You 

are  the  same  old  two  and  six .     But  I 

haven't  given  you  time  to  speak  to  Belle !  " 

Roland  welcomed  his  soi-distant  sweet- 
heart, gallantly  congratulated  and  compli- 
mented her,  and  then  permitted  his  friends 
to  follow  Alice,  who  now  led  the  way  into 
the  house. 

Entering  the  library — since  the  family's 
return  to  Rushbrook,  this  favorite  haunt 
had  been  re-arranged  as  much  like  it  was 
of  old,  as  was  possible— they  were  soon 
joined  by  Dolores,  who  was  living  with  the 
Vernons,  and  the  party  sat  down  to  chat 
over  the  many  subjects  that  to  them  were 
full  of  congenial  interest. 

While  the  ladies  rattled  on  pleasantly, 
Roland  led  Jock  to  a  seat  on  a  sofa  at  some 
distance  from  their  wives,  and,  leaning 
down  and  speaking  in  a  whisper,  said,  with 
some  emotion : 

"  We  will  not  talk  of  the  Past,  Jock — it 
is  too  full  of  unpleasant  memories  ;  but 
there  is  one  question  that  must  be  asked, 
and  now  will  do,  as  well  as  any  other  time, 
for  the  inquiry.  I  haven't  dared  to  ask  my 
wife,  or  mother ;  but  you  must  tell  me — 
what  tidings  have  been  heard  from  Paul 
Adams  ?  Is  anything  known  of  the  scoun- 
drel's fate '? " 

"  The  misckeant  is  dead.  Judge  Ashe 
secured  complete  proof  of  his  guilt  as  the 
murderer  of  his  wife,  and  endeavored  to 
have  him  arrested.  He  fled  the  country — 
-went  to  Naples — was  killed  for  his  money 
and  robbed." 

While  Roland  and  Jock  were  conversing, 
Dolores,  who  was  sitting  near  a  window 
•which  opened  upon  the  park,  hastily  rose 
from  her  seat  and  left  the  room,  Alice  call- 
ing to  her  as  she  retired  : 


"  What's  the  matter,  Dolores — are  yoa 
sick  ?  " 

"No;  she's  not  sick.  Let  her  alone!" 
whispered  Belle,  pointing  to  a  gentleman 
who  was  leisurely  walking  down  the  ave- 
nue towards  the  house.  "  Don't  you  see  ?  ' 
"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  he  was  to  be  back 
this  soon  !  "  responded  Alice. 

"  Wlio  is  that?"  inquired  Roland,  who 
had  noticed  the  sudden  retreat  of  Dolores 
and  had  overheard  the  comments  of  the 
ladies. 

"  Nobody  but  Mr.  Silvertongue." 
"  Silvertongue  !     I  wonder  if  it  can  be 
my  old  New  York  friend?  "  exclaimed  Ro- 
land, rising  to  go  out  and  meet  him. 

•'  Yes — the  very  same  1  But  sit  down — 
don't  disturb  Dolores  1  " 

"  Disturb  Dolores !  "  echoed  Roland. 
"  Yes  !     He's  her  beau  !  " 
"  Her  beau !     You  are  jesting,  wife  ?  " 
"Indeed,  I  am  not :  They  are  engaged  ! '" 
"They  are?" 

Roland  said  this  ;  and  then  gave  vent  to 
his  astonishment  in  a  prolonged  whistle. 

The  gathering  shades  of  twilight  admon- 
ished Belle  and  her  husband  to  start  home- 
wards, and  they  rose  to  leave.  Alice  ac- 
companied them  to  the  gate,  where,  in 
reply  to  some  kind  expression  of  Belle's, 
she  said  : 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  very  happy,  darling.  He  is 
improved  in  every  respect — in  health,  in 
spirits." 

"  Is  he  still  an — an — "  here  Belle  bent 
her  head  down  and  whispered  the  remain- 
der of  her  inquiry  in  her  friend's  ear,  " — an 
Infidel  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not.  Belle— I  hope  not  !  But  if 
he  is,  I  do  not  despair  of  yet  leading  him 
back  to  the  true  source  of  all  earthly  Con- 
tentment— a  faith  in  Christ's  pledges." 

"  Oh,  may  you  succeed  !  That  shall  be 
my  constant  prayer.     Good-bye  I " 

And  so  Belle  kissed  her  hand  and  van- 
ished. 

The  Editor  closes  his  labors  in  the  same 
■words — addressed   to  Alice  in  her  special 
work — to  his  readers  in  all  their  concerns  : 
"  Oh,  may  you  Succeed  !     That  shall  be 
my  constant  prayer.     Good  bye  I  " 

And  so  he  kisses  his  hand,  and — Van- 
ishes ! 

THE  END. 


.iil 


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ll-lllltLllilll'.: 


jiiiii 


